Every eve bees fly, trees sweep the sky when red sphere sets. Felines stretch, they mew, expect feed/ seek shelter where we dwell. They enter, elven eyes peer, fleece sheds everywhere we sweep we sweep

I roam around my house looking for ideas. like I have lost something and then forgotten what I'm searching for. I check between pages of books, and then behind the milk carton in the fridge, I look into

Roads wind and wrap around, (over and under) each other, bringing us again and again to the same places from different routes so we are still lost. sign boards double back upon themselves so we are travelling

What happens when you leave a place? Do the memories peel off the walls with paint turning to dust, swept away by new hands every morning? Do the trees weep? Do they shed their leaves as tears? Do the

What the Sunrise Smells Like (on the East Coast) Fish. Salt water and soaked sand. The stale whiff of the ocean that lingers in damp clothes. Morning breath and toothpaste hidden under stifled yawns. Sweat.

Turtle hatchlings crawl out of man-made nests, testing out their limbs. They pile on top of each other, sand sticking to their new skin. They fall and tumble and flail about on their backs as they try

Radha Kunj With it’s black metal gate that never quite closes fully. Maybe that’s why the door needs three locks and three steps. My grandmother stands at the open door, with questions about my well-being

This is my ode to the standing people, the silent observers of the earth that have watched her children grow. Badam standing at the fork of the road, holding our hearts in a hidden hollow of its bark as

source I plan my days like I am packing for a short trip that warrants a bag just big enough for all the essentials. But I fill it with everything I might (or might not) need, always accounting for the

Sleep plays with my eyelashes, like kite string, tugging at them to bring lids to a close, but for the past few days I've practiced the art of losing sleep by dancing with words instead of counting sheep.

source I am losing memories like parts of myself. They spill out of my mouth with watermelon seeds I'd compete to spit further and further away when I was 7; and drip down my chin and arms with the juice

Artwork by Adrien Mérigeau        My body does not feel like      home today. I fumble     at the door     with the wrong keys,     so I have to jump over the gate     and break down     the back door.

Advice I forget I have given when it comes to myself: i. the process is more important than the product. ii. be patient with yourself. iii. you are not responsible for how other people feel. iv it's okay

source I do not care for words today. They carry too much weight. Brought in on cargo ships that struggle not to sink, packaged in boxes lined with velvet and shrouded in bubble wrap - the only way we

Cars come to a standstill on the road at a green signal. Green means Go, but a cow has decided to stop and contemplate - whatever cows contemplate about. Before it has a chance to moo, horns honk and blare

I tried to fight with the sea today; flailing my arms and thrashing about as I stormed in with determination, ready to catch (hold of) a wave and show it what I'm capable of. Instead, it took everything

source i) 1 + X = 2; Solve for X.   Ask if the one must have the X factor. ii) 24/7 = ?   Divide your life into fractions and see   how many you're willing to share. iii)1 + 1 = X   1 = X - 1   When the

source: taarikajohnart "How we have failed you, little Asifa I want to be content with saying that the news articles full of details and words robbed me of mine, that (the words) left my lungs like

There's often a block I think we all encounter when someone asks us who we are, or if we're to introduce ourselves to a gambit of strangers. How do I even start? Typically, with my name? I'm Shruti Suresh.

If walls could talk the ones in the dance hall would have stories to tell of how I've grown (from 4 feet to 5'4''). They would remember the things I don't: the exact moment when I reached the beam I had