No. One must be careful. Choose wisely. As though choosing what vial of medicine to administer to the weary, no, the dying. Each sentence that rolls through the tongue in the quiet, stormy, candle-lit room, a crafty portent- whispered to the winds of fate. And no going back after turning the page.
Tag: reader
The Indian Woman
When in sweet syllables I sing, I am Saraswati When I devote myself to loving, I am Parvati
GULMOHAR
He took to stealing moments at night, walking briskly in the cool, comforting Spring breeze, to sit by a tiny tea stall in the alley by the temple, for some soothing caffeine and smoke, among the poor souls who frequented it, peeking at him from time to time, through sips of their scalding tea in the oppressive Spring evenings, wondering why he was in a place like that.
Scrape… heard Dantés
I will sell my soul, and walk through the muck not for freedom, oh no, but for my words
Wuthering Heights
Is there a house upon the moorsbathed in thick, dreamy shadowwhere Cathy and Heathcliff roam for an eternity of new morrowsAnd do those that feared their lovestill cross their hearts at the sightof the ever watching windowsof the dreaded, soulless Heights Does one still hear the lonely calla dark midnight wail, 'Let me in'and the… Continue reading Wuthering Heights
Ishaisms 
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