Faces   A teenage mother riding The metro with her infant child.   A bus driver going back home By foot from his morning shift.   Some school kids, gossiping.   An old man carrying a tree sapling.   Two mothers with their strollers.   A man reading an old, creasy Book with poems.   A poet offering...

The speaker’s perspective The word Ego, has become very popular these days. But negatively, it is often described as an impediment, a lesser self, something to be overcome, transcended, or even gotten rid of. Ego is the Latin word for “I”. Its etymology traces back to the Latin pronoun “ego,”...

Chapter 1: The Darkwood province   I dreamt in dread of Darkwood, A province in an unknown place. Thick forests of pine and spruce, That made the darkness darker.   Its vast space stretched in front of me, A web of muddy trails and run-down towns, A curse upon all that my eye could see. I had...

I couldn’t find my car. Not because I didn’t remember where I parked, but because I was so unbearably angry and offended. So, I circled sector B2 of the Mall’s underground parking lot, whilst breathing heavily, feeling my face a shameful red, my veins pulsing with a rush of blood. As I roamed around...

1. These heavy grapes hanging, Purple-black like bruises, Like pouches of fruit blood. They soon will be bashed and boiled, In the gluttony of a short-lived Autumn.   The winds rise in mid-September, Gray clouds pass like ships along the sky, Cold chills, warm instances take turns, Playing different...

  Your enchantment is To be always interrupted; Never finish things. Never being fully understood. Your explanations are like forgotten vessels; The smell of pine will pull you away, Pull all the world away and banish it; Send it far off, strapped to its aroma. The mountain’s curves will...

“For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.” W. B. Yeats “The Stolen Child” His pace was fast and confident, his back erect, his gaze proud yet dreamlike, as if part of him was in a trance. The young man walked on and soon strayed from the marked trail, entering the pine woods....

“For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro’ narrow chinks of his cavern.” William Blake My fingers rest on the keyboard. It is silent; the fingertips gravitate To the spaces between the letters. * Behind my shoulder, there is The reassurance that everything Is still happening. * I...

1. The Sea whispers with the wind. In foaming crests, in deep green boulders In glitter, like lost ideas of the forgetful. Abandoned driftwood and rubbish, Which the sea nurtures as its own; Reshapes them as its own; Scatters them to and fro As its own.   2. I am a lonely watcher. My feelings...