Enjoying obscurity

What a strange breed we writers are! What a strange set of preferences we have - a pursuit of the spotlight, yet also the veil of the wings. We have our grey areas - those frequently trodden, yet still, somehow obscure and personal domain, somewhere between black and white roads, a place to reflect and…

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Imitations

He plays the Lyre of all our lives - Artists, a mere string or two do strum. Mocking another's creation by duplicating and tampering with the notes, O Child, is the mocking, the thwarting, of God's own divine hum; and though mere mortals may falter, He always does recognise - the true, from the false…

Market Square

Is that the cost of inspiration, then? You steal from the artist an idea, a thought, a penny, in the market square and say it's borrowed? Is that the price you pay for a good deed not unpunished; the law of Karma nullified; not returned by another fair and square - stolen, to be returned…

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