Category: Hand Picked

  ventnor city, new jersey    in the long stripe of setting sun,  at the hour...

    It starts- My footsteps  enter the rose-garden, it withers with every step...

  A mirage along scorching deserts is an illusion that makes the faint heart flutter.  ...

  I don’t know why they have brought me here. This place seems familiar, but...

…once – even without these frozen words you can no longer bear to write. You are afraid to...

It must still be him, placing a piano on the blue glass roof of the sea, making you quiver like a...

    after The Nightingale’s Song at Midnight and the Morning Rain by Joan Miro (Spain),...

In Karachi, Nightfallslikeyourhair. I sit and braid it as I count, So many knitted sadnesses,...

after House and Spiral in the Rain by Friedensreich Hundertwasser (New Zealand, b. Austria), 1962...

The first of Spring – and everything Says Yes. Along the edge Of the field, blossoms in the hedge,...