From the category archives:

Literary Publications

The Purpose of Lucifer

March 16, 2011 · 2 comments   136 views

in Poetry

Hello world, I am god.
On Earth, I had the dream to create life.

I am the one who painted green.
First, I weaved grass – they served a purpose.
They held onto the skin of my Earth.
Then chiselled trees with a different purpose.
I gave them fruit, knowing that someday
The fruits would serve some greater cause.

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Desert From The Other World

May 9, 2010 · 0 comments   52 views

in Poetry

Desert From The Other World

As world transpires into a moonlit desert –
Chilly, gray and with hints of colour.
The pale lush of the thorns,
Marking the edges of an otherwise serene horizon.

The cool breeze from the mellows of the dunes,
Carrying hope in form of whiffs from the sea.
Making me imagine myself walking barefoot
On the boundary of this world.

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Subsistence of The Obsolescent

Short Story

As I entered my neighbourhood, I spotted a hearse parked a few metres away from my house. Someone must be dead. My mind instantly assumed it to be the ill-treated and ailing father of the notorious neighbour staying diagonally across my house.

January 31, 2010 2 comments

You Had A Hand On Me

Poetry

Takes but a drop of outward thought -
In a bit to comprehend the simplicity of such a soul.
Those notes still ring;
The voice that made me feel at home.

Bosom friendship from a soul so great,
Naughty winks from the eyes of depth,
Witty smirks in as a way to cheer -
I have seen them all and have no despair.

November 30, 2009 0 comments

Crossover To The Adversary

Photography
Thumbnail image for Crossover To The Adversary

Deserted myself; blew up into the smoke,
Drowned in liquor; walked out of all ties,
Tied to posts and hung from the cliff;
Gasped for drown; vomited dragon.

Made more alone; walked out of body,
Flew off the ground; hit the clouds,
Blasted through the mountains,
Burnt into ashes; destroyed in oblivion.

October 22, 2009 0 comments

Death Of The Abolitionist

Poetry
Thumbnail image for Death Of The Abolitionist

You keep running through the trenches
Ignoring the dead under your feet;
Your time following behind.

It is dark,
Everything is in shades of green,
Blood is black,
Oozing from mangled bones
As you step over them.

October 9, 2009 0 comments