e x c h a n g e g i f t

Words are the gifts I have always wanted for myself. They are my bars of chocolates, my calorie-free slices of cheesecake. My words is the gift I can give to the world. Carefully wrapped in thin papers of prayer --- stamped with a wish that they reach the soul who needed them the most even… Continue reading e x c h a n g e g i f t

in seven stanzas

i There are two not singing Asian koehls dancing to the tune of April drizzle, playing with brown, and a bit smaller mynahs. ii The plane above looked c     r      a     w      l     i     n      g , ever so s l o w l y ,… Continue reading in seven stanzas

evening snake

Where is my home? Outside, the evening snake is lit, on right it's filled with patches of white, on left it's a strawberry jam of red. Wait, perhaps, it's not a snake, it is but, a curved paved skin of earth, where tiny, tiny, earthlings who think they own the world, are scrambling inside their… Continue reading evening snake