Tag: writer

Dark River a deluge of poetry, Ishaisms, Poetry

THE LANDLORD’S WIFE

Isha Garg

This is a page, dear reader, from my life, about a love both secret and unspoken, for, you see, she was the landlord’s wife– and I, a lonely surveyor and month long tenant. On a misty eve in an icy, grey, November did I make my way to her elegant door, as the mountains with… Continue reading THE LANDLORD’S WIFE

Creative Writing, Ishaisms, Poetry

I used to believe in snow globes

Isha Garg

The shopkeeper smiled and wound the key- and the tune, faint and trembling, made the snow fall again! Head tilted, heart lifting into a smile, I listened then. So, sorrow could be rehearsed until it became beautiful.

Creative Writing, Ishaisms, Legacy, life

Lessons I learnt from the hardest year of my life

Isha Garg

While you must be prepared for many an ‘Et tu, Bruté?’, moment, don’t die yet, Caesar. Yes, there’ll be many Judases in the crowd, and by many, I mean many, but God will also manifest in the bonds meant to evolve out of the storm with you and hold you through it, or at least hold your brolly through it until you’re home.

inspiration, Ishaisms, life, photography

Isha proudly presents…

Isha Garg

...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.

Dark River a deluge of poetry, inspiration, Ishaisms, Poetry

What Happened in the Woods

Isha Garg

I drank from the cup of the flowing stream of verse and was thus poisoned, with the charms of what can be in one’s imagination. The stream ran ahead and I followed, saw it melding with a dark river of secrets-