It is the plea of the farmer for the good grain;the longing of the desert for a bout of rain;the prayer of parted love birds to unite again;the desperation of the prisoner, bound in chains...Time is hope and time is pain;time is loss… and time is gain…. © Isha Garg


Many years

Many years I've lostharbouring hope like a babytoo long in the comingbut nurtured and cared for each day, each nightwith more love than thatthe preceding dawn only to be greeted stillborn Many years I've lostMany years I've losta meek, docile lambtoo easily led, too caringto run away from the pen where each day new icy… Continue reading Many years


Going Home, Sinatra – a short story

The station was empty, save for the moths fluttering by the lemon glow of the lone light bulb. You could almost hear the quietness, the eerie lull so characteristic to my town. Quiet, lost and forgotten little place. Existing in secret.  The train came in, huffing and puffing, hooting, and whistling, creating the only buzz… Continue reading Going Home, Sinatra – a short story