If we don’t push ourselves hard enough for the race ahead, we’d be crushed in the stampede that followed.
Life isn’t a Jane Austen novel and I’m not a doting protagonist.
I can’t forge happy endings, but I refuse to be the sad story that my poetry recites.
A hollow emptiness resonated with the silence of relief.
We found romance, between secondhand books that, once smelled like love.
“Who are you?” The old woman asks the young man standing before her with a quizzical expression in her eyes. … More
My heart’s an open ocean To fill the abyss of love But lately, something’s going wrong I feel it’s drying … More
Based on a true incident. I walked through the doors of the cancer ward To the room dedicated to death, … More
It was 8:30 am in the morning and as I reluctantly approached my textbooks to prepare myself for tomorrow’s exam, … More