...her vintage card collection. Ta-Da! Such a cliché of a writer, aren't I? The romance with literature began very young and so did my collection. Letters, paper, poetry in every form took me to worlds I felt at home with. The photograph features two cards (as honourary mentions)- not vintage (yet)- but worthy of being part of my collection sheerly due to their meaning, moving words and the fact that they were sent to me by bloggers on WordPress- a fellow poetess from Vancouver whom I was blessed to meet and share wonderful time with, and an artist whose work I've also featured before. Handwritten cards- cards in themselves- are such a lost art and no words will ever express my delight at receiving them among those gifts air-mailed to me. (pauses to picture them in the hands of future grandchildren fascinated by their cool granny, lol). Though I've gifted some of those cards over the years, to people who wanted them- only one was ever used by me. The last letter I wrote to my dad, which was placed over his chest as he was carried away from home for the last time. There were a couple of people who tried to stop me then (as it "wasn't part of the cremation rites" to place anything such thing on the body), but it remained there and went with him.
Category: photography
Lionheart
...a one-track soul, feet submerged completely all at once, and a sudden breath escaping as the last cold death being offered to Vaikuntha, for eternity. Big boulders over the charging waters, and my feet unsteady atop one; I found sure footing and let them guide me as milestones to the cosmos. One by one, making my way, pulled to that smile; the strongest, sweetest breath of God against my cheek; ebony hair waving- the herald of a homecoming.
The Last Breath
Whipped by the winter wind A lone prayer flag
Ishaisms 
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