At the end of long nights birds chirped and squawked, squirrels chattered their heads out. The wind rose and fell and the tall trees whispered. Footsteps swelled and footsteps receded. Footsteps stopped and guffawed and came to peep inside our home. Footsteps cackled.
Author: umashankar
I am just a watcher then. Sometimes I watch life, sometimes I watch death; many times I watch in between...
Luna’s Story
Dear Finn, I don’t even know where to begin. But the skies get creepier, like a hole in the mouth of a snake, with each passing hour. Darkness falls like flakes and sinks into the soul of dogdom. Before long,…
These Fingers
Like a penitent pigeon, grief has settled again on the ledge; Molten moons have lingered and shone in vain on the ledge.
The Gunslinger Followeth
Revisiting the 2019 Balakot aerial clash, Abhinandan Varthaman, the disputed F-16 kill and the mystery of Pakistan’s second captured pilot.
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 uniform 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 crumbling buildings,Like a silence among the wooers singing at your window. Withering are the curses traded…
1500. Reaching the pinnacle
Wet Charcoal
Each night I bleed a little of my soul to her beauty,Silken words congeal into a mole to her beauty. A lone moon treads the vesper dust of day's end,The dying sun has left a veil of kohl to her…
The Winter of Tonight
Old lesions fester and seep in the cavern of tonight,Broken vows gather and weep in the cavern of tonight. A high wind sways the maimed tree of deodar,The axmen are crowned in the tavern of tonight. Upturned chairs wait not…
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 writing my heart out on the Internet,The façade has imploded in its splendour in the…
’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.
One Grain Amongst the Storm 