You are being written.
maybe when all the noise is gone, the music shall make sense
all the dance shall stop one day
you shall start walking on a rather crumbly stage that smells of mothballs from past musicals
silver dust doesn’t last very long, even for people who never believed in anything but war
With the night came a soft waft of rain. It is the first rain of the season.
It is falling softly, making the city streets even more silent somehow. Summer will be here soon. That is why night rain is a promise. A promise of the burning sun, and the peace that the rain will always bring in its wake.
I want you all to listen to this song.
It’s called Youth and has been created by this group called Daughter. Look at the lyrics; they’re recommendation enough.
Shadows settle on the place, that you left.
Our minds are troubled by the emptiness.
Destroy the middle, it’s a waste of time.
From the perfect start to the finish line.
Peer pressure is not always pressure; sometimes it is more like a light-hearted punch to your shoulder.
I was talking to someone today, and he was looking at pictures of the past ‘me’. After that he made the following statement that irked me no end,
“I wish I had also known you during those days. You were real badass, riding bikes and crashing up, drinking…”
I asked him what was ‘wrong’ with me now. To which he said, “Oh nothing, now you are more mellow”. (It’s been years since I turned teetotaller.)
This haiku is a response to Hando’s haiku below. It was written at a Cistercian monastery.
on the Snowmass slope
even the magpies on the fence
sit in silence
The Indian judiciary is still caught in the throes of a colonial hangover.
How else would you justify the upholding of a colonial-era law that banned “carnal intercourse against the order of nature”?
This week’s take on the Trifextra Challenge:
(To add thirty of your own words to the following three words for a total of thirty-three.)
The words are ‘myopic’, ‘dazzle’, ‘basin’.
Nature’s Child by Karin Taylor
Her myopic eyes saw nothing except for Nature’s hidden signs; the songs in the storm and a dazzle in the waning moon. Only she saw the pixies skip merrily over the ancient basin.