Humanity at risk
Was it a spectacle—filmed the whole incident? / Why didn’t you withstand? / Why didn’t you try to desist?
1m ago
Vinayeki
Oh that angelic call, yet I cannot respond. I cannot open my mouth in fear of the burning pain overpowering my senses.
11m ago
Mothers of the earth
Come, if you may, with swords or guns. Remember, I won’t cry and run; I will rise from the depths of the land.
1y ago
“The Baby”
In the chilly winter night as I walked past the forest, I heard a feeble crying of a baby. I shivered in my warm clothes.
2y ago
Reflections
Far away from the crowd, far from the glaring chaos; out of the blaring car horns, out of the shrieks of loneliness, out of all the madness that surrounds; Out of the city, out of the cacophony I chose to go and find solace.
2y ago
September 22, 2024
Humanity at risk
Was it a spectacle—filmed the whole incident? / Why didn’t you withstand? / Why didn’t you try to desist?
December 4, 2023
Vinayeki
Oh that angelic call, yet I cannot respond. I cannot open my mouth in fear of the burning pain overpowering my senses.
October 14, 2023
Thoughts of an immigrant
She stands in front of the canvas and stares.
February 18, 2023
Mothers of the earth
Come, if you may, with swords or guns. Remember, I won’t cry and run; I will rise from the depths of the land.
October 12, 2022
Clifton Beach
A strange experience by the sea-shore.
August 10, 2022
Karma
A poem about the modern way of life
May 21, 2022
“The Baby”
In the chilly winter night as I walked past the forest, I heard a feeble crying of a baby. I shivered in my warm clothes.
January 22, 2022
Reflections
Far away from the crowd, far from the glaring chaos; out of the blaring car horns, out of the shrieks of loneliness, out of all the madness that surrounds; Out of the city, out of the cacophony I chose to go and find solace.
November 6, 2021
Echoes
I roll and roll and roll, Till I reach my desired goal. The branches grow forth, Till my body aches and is sore. My body turns old.
October 9, 2021
A Woman of Substance
She lies on the bed, a broken canvas. Fragments and splinters of an old frame, Faded colors of painted priceless picture, Greys and white, crooked dark veins, wrinkled paper skin. Frames abound on the wall’s fortress,
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