Now the news of your arrival makes me nervous.
I pretend as if
you are a thing of the past for me.
My reactions change within me.
Due to which, I don't know, I feel a strange nervousness.
I don't want to take, hear or know your name in any way.
I don't want to return to those pages of the past.
Now my life is anonymous and
This anonymity itself
is the "name" of my life.
About the Creator
Vichaar
of these thoughts that human has become the most important species in the world, it is these thoughts that have made man the son of God or the son of Satan, therefore whatever your thoughts may be, they are important.
I am write my thoughts
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The Harvest
Koyi wobbled to her shabby wood and straw kaz, holding her machete and an old burlap bag with some yams. Someone had laid another basket in front of the patched up door—rose apples today. They were a bright reddish pink, looking waxy and crisp, just the way she liked them. The culprit knew her very well. Those would be crunchy, juicy and sweet—she could tell—but she gathered all the will she could muster and pushed the basket aside to enter her home. She had already said no repeatedly and would not be taking bribes.
By Lily Séjora day ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Your poem portrays the complexities of letting go and finding a sense of self amidst the shadows of the past, thank you very much for sharing, love your works, hope to read more, subscribed.