Old metaphors for love.

I don't have much to say except that this poem is based on one of the oldest metaphors for love - beaches (or oceans or water, whatever it is). It goes something like this - "In 2008, I was a scarecrow standing at the edge of the world where the sand and the water conversed for days...."

Too much.

Steve was heartbroken the day Husky died but was always afraid to admit it because he believed heartbreaks had become cliché. There were too many poets writing about it, too many eyes crying over it, too many stories ending because of it. He believed heartbreaks had become 'too much' and he was born a minimalist....

Cinderella’s shoes.

Never had he felt the warmth of her fingers before. He had anticipated it to be like the warm sun on a cold morning, something that would make him shiver and smile. He had imagined it to be like hot coffee or the softest quilt, or the rush of caffeine in his veins...

Strangers with Pizza boxes.

It's high time we started talking to one another. While the first half of this century will be famous for introverted artists, that's not how the real stories will survive. In this poem, I talk about strangers and stories. It goes something like this: "If you look carefully when walking on a busy street, you'll see rainbow kite strings around the neck of every stranger...."

Life update: two

In the post – 365 – I announced that I’m going to post a life update on the 16th of every month. You can skip it altogether if you’re not interested in anything but poetry. This month's life update starts like this: "Well, it's time to disconnect. I believe there are three things every writer wants to their name by the time they're 60: a nice book, a great song, and love. A few months ago, I....."