In Memory Of …

I long for her touch. Her long slender fingers slid through my sides, devouring pleasure in my smoothness. The touch was always different according to her moods. Writers are moody people. They almost live the characters they write about. She is one hell of a writer. She fiddled with me all through her writing process....

The Ink Flows Again …

And just as I thought I had completely lost my knack to writing the weather turns blue. The thunderstorm in the morning followed by light showers settled the dust not only outside but inside as well. The green shines a clean & clear glow. The day has moved on towards work but the pleasing laziness...

Resurrection

There are days When I gasp For every breath, Not the one in my heart But the one Pulsating my soul. The thrust of time Bit by bit Drains my body To an ashy residue Not a funeral for me No cremation either Carrying the brunt Of my burnt soul Day after day In this...

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