Starless winter night, the cold, dark waters, the Boatman comes home in the midnight hour; upon entering senses the presence something sinister, as the faint smell of smoke suggests a late night visitor. Suddenly, he feels a hand upon his shoulder jumping in alarm as he lays eyes on the solitary smoker - though he… Continue reading The Boatman and the return of the Traveller
Inspiration is the bird that alights on the mountain of the mind, adding ripples of music, to the flowing rivulets of thought... © Isha Garg
Listening to them preach - in the days of old - I followed what they said was the right path - until one day I couldn't ignore the wrong in all that I was told, and let the pull within my soul allow me to stray. For better or for worse, I chose the journey,… Continue reading The Home of the Soul
Let us hide underneath the naive leaves that cloud canopy-like above us; let innocent birds call out to the streams that flow all wise, flanked by bushes... Tell me, can you hear the sweet music? There's no need to fall in line with what's been - let the magic of the forbidden set you free;… Continue reading The Sweet Music…
Too late, does the heart let go of pride; too late, do poems of golden memories remind; too late, does the self miss the days gone by; and too late, do the ones who have lost, realise... © Isha Garg
