She flies, she flies
In the vermillion skies.
There's a fiery light
She moves down and down,
To the sienna burnt earthen browns.
They're dark, they're light,
They're full of . . .
The Extra Mile
He woke up hurriedly at 7.30 AM. The alarm had been put to snooze over three
times. Ah! A little extra ten minutes of . . .
Of The Self
She celebrates being her fullest self,
An expression that even the daring lack.
Her ‘self’ expressed in singular stories,
With characters from the rural shack.
With every cast dawning . . .
The gleaming fluorescent green reminded him of her smile. The smile which used to sparkle specially on this day. This was the first year without her by his side. Her cheeks had taken on the exact bright pink of the pillow - hot from a sudden rush of . . .