Like a penitent pigeon, grief has settled again on the ledge; Molten moons have lingered and shone in vain on the ledge.
Author: umashankar
The Gunslinger Followeth
“The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.” ~Stephen King In the darkness intervening the 25th and 26th of February, the Indian Air Force executed what is now known as the Balakot Strike, also alluded to…
Unwaiting for Godot
Disquieted and quietened we stand, the pair of us at the brink of the Internet, conjoined and disjointed at the splice of consciousness and a unique resource locator. Beguiled enough to have waited for ages, we have figured it’s time…
Afterwards
Afterwards, I shall be a mote swirling at your window, Without a breath, or a heartbeat, ringing at your window. Noon has stumbled through the half-wicked buildings, Like a blemish upon the wooers singing at your window. Withering are the…
1500. Reaching the pinnacle
Bruce hadn’t achieved much in his life. There was one thing, however, he could do: he could be the first in the history of the world to climb one particular peak of the local mountain range. Reaching the top of this peak had been an insurmountable problem for many who had attempted it. Although few had died in the attempt, no one had arrived where apparently “no human had ever trod before”.
It wasn’t the most earth-shattering thing to do, but Bruce would attempt it come what may. At least to himself he would achieve something of note: a legend in his own mind.
He set out.
After many strenuous days, after falling rocks and slippery shingle slides, after warm days and freezing nights, after scratches and insect bites, after encountering inquisitive tourist parties and aspiring solo mountaineers, he had only a few feet left to go. He reached up…
View original post 447 more words
Wet Charcoal
Each night I bleed a part of my soul to her beauty, Silken words congeal like a mole to her beauty. A lone moon is treading forth the liminal dust of evening, The dying sun has hitched a veil of…
The Icicled Bosom
Old lesions fester and seep in the cavern of tonight, Dark thoughts gather and weep in the cavern of tonight. A high wind is swaying the maimed tree of deodar, The parched lips of tippler look for tavern of tonight.…
Teach Me To Dream by D P Dash
Just as I thought I was done with the ash-berries tossed at me by the departing year, suturing up my tattered ego with a ghazal in the reigning obscurity, Mr D. P. Dash ruffled the quiet of my languid existence.…
Years in the Ash
The old year shrivels like a dog-eared calendar in the ash, Days fuse into dust, hope into hungry tinder, in the ash. For a decade of scribbling my heart out on Internet, The façade has imploded in all its splendour…
’Oumuamua
My muse is a furious fugitive from a foreign galaxy, not unlike the ‘intergalactic interloper ’Oumuamua’, who having orbited the fuzzy nebula of my brain is now poised for an exodus to unknown dark matters. In the years now a…
A Leaf by The Nightfall
Fallen by the wayside like a sheaf by the nightfall, The sea of love has withered on the reef by the nightfall. Happiness will travel only one way with her footsteps, The dust will settle deep like a grief by…
Only the Crows
Derrick J. Night, who writes everyday about his incredibly plenteous garden, weaves subtle symbols and imagery in the titles and subjects of his photo-filled posts. Yesterday, I was struck by the title of his post, 'Only the Crows', the moment…