poetry

Poetry is what gets lost in translation

– Robert Frost

gazing at lightbulbs

It was a humid afternoon, sweltering by anyone’s standards. The room was filled with people grouped in their usual places, wrapped in the world of their collective making. The whole space was filled with noise, of thoughts rummaging through everyone’s head spoken clearly aloud. She was looking straight into his expressive eyes – a look… Continue reading gazing at lightbulbs

inside a closed room

A faint light is trying to seep in through the curtains draped with flower patterns of blue and green. The air felt damp – it has been drizzling all night again. Her room sets a scene of a melancholic view – the way the light touches the deep blue wall, the feeling of sadness eminent in the space. Staring at the ceiling, she took a deep breath, what came out was a heavy sigh. Then another.… Continue reading inside a closed room