Method to the Madness

Circuitous these democratic roads of love, broken streets dare not be unveiled; mad spaces gaping wide, a callous yawn in dusty attic reminiscences. Love suffers, dies, breathes its last - (a muffled scream that no one heard) fumes from the nowed coil breaking free in ash and smoke reminiscences. A craft is honed in contemporary…

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On the art of knowing…

We meet and interact with so many people in life, yet how many of those can we claim to truly know, despite regular meetings or communication? How many of them have realities that tend to differ from their projection of it? How many can never live up to the idea of them that we, in…

Stolen Harmonies…

Musical notes lined up in harmony, before the poet's flute; musical notes created an enchanting symphony when the poet wrote. Musical notes found themselves in jeopardy, when the thief one night stole; musical notes now creak in a cacophony devoid of honesty and soul. © Isha Garg

SAVIOUR

In the middle of nowhere, inside a deep well would I be found? - who could tell? Should I cry for relief, grapple with the waters, or resign from this life - does it even matter? My body was ready to drown, yet my spirit did grope, The mossy brick mound for the solitary hanging…