I write because I read. I read because I write.
He walks ahead of me with his old rucksack and a carton box he asked from a store owner politely. A couple, giggling in front of him, stopped laughing to cross the road, perhaps afraid of his dirt-filled skin. I trace his steps under the faint moonglow not to say a shy hello, but to murmur… Continue reading the definition of home
Soft murmurs say the end is near, this earth will crumble, disappear. Will you let your story end here? Mouths gurgling aged, frozen beer, choosing to leave peace's hemisphere. Soft murmurs say the end is near, tired earth sinks under cloud of fear, birds choke with vows so insincere, will you let your story end… Continue reading fading murmurs (a villanelle)
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
cheers for choked up tears, cries without list'ning ears. cheers for wistful dreams caught or lost in raging streams. cheers for days of cavalier where lone strength perseveres, cheers for named fears fin'lly found courage sears, cheers for 'nother year, lost hope grows, reappears. — 12.04.2018 ©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved. Photo via… Continue reading last leaf
Whenever I look back, I see the zigzag road of twists and turns, of ups and downs, my once proud heart has been through. I was a decorated student. My dad won't walk with me in graduation ceremonies without a medal. His standard has been my fire. To excel. To be the best. To aim… Continue reading g o l d s m i t h ( a haibun )
One year ago I dived into another job, left the comfort of the four corners of a white room filled with the smell of fresh news and sweet scent of deadline sweats. With closed fists and shut eyes, I took a leap away from comfort to embrace the unknown new. Now here we go again.… Continue reading calendar leaves
Unfinished coffee, void of warmth, aching for last touch. Oh, the daddy. Spilled sauces blots on canvas, wait, it's kitchen table top. Oh, the mommy. Crumbs of cookies paved roads for the hard working ants. Oh, the eldest. Traps made of Lego too tiny, too tough, barefoot left scathed. Oh the youngest. Bedroom scented with… Continue reading map of mess
Cold against the bare skin of warm, deep-lined palm, colder like a December midnight against the tastebuds of tongue. Brick-hard on top of a hand— so fragile and so soft. Sweet, chewy 'side the calcium cave with teeth-made loft. Perhaps, humans are winter gums— sugar-coated, guarded, armored at first glance, melting, undressing, when inside a… Continue reading w i n t e r g u m s
While the roof sings to the tune of the monsoon keys, the leaves outside dance with the storm's cold breeze, with a warm, fresh cup of coffee, my eyes stare blankly at the road void of wheels and feet— empty— wishing I can say the same with my mind. The antonym of empty is full… Continue reading fogged up
One... two... three... what is there for you to see? Will there be a bubbly bee— bringer of positivity, yet with bite, oh, so feisty. Four... five... six... what is there for you to seek? Is there a bullet-size hole where some light will somehow leak— to free the words you cannot speak? Seven... eight...… Continue reading On Continuity
A Reading Writer 