It was a Friday morning, Or maybe it was Monday? It is hard to keep track. I wake up to the chatter of voices Bustling about the corridors, Going about their routine. Just another day. At least I tell myself so. Deep inside my brain, Cerebrum’s having a party. A million thoughts abuzz, Floating around…
Category: Poetry
Loss of Memory One February morning Grandpa forgets what I am called. I remember his hysterical face, patterned by the sunlight which managed to smuggle itself through the Bohemian-looking room divider, RISÓ¦R from Ikea But I digress. Ah yes, his face was a maelstrom of overwrought emotions as he fails to recognise his grandchild. Disorientation…
Lying on the marble floor, Was a blanket torn apart. But the last valiant thread hanging on, Was the one with a heart. Albeit nothing more than a rag now, Ugliness defined by its skin impaled. But its story was an achingly human one, Mired with quotidian detail. It seemed like yesterday, When…
I managed to glance at it, A really long look in the mirror. ” His face is blank. His skin ghostly pale. His long ruffled hair, Droop over his eyes. And his green eyes seem broken, Like shards of cracked glass. Who is he? I have never seen him. He looks so hollow, Like a…