Friendship
The Sound of the Swing
The Sound of the Swing The garden had long fallen silent. Once, it was a kingdom of chaos: shrieks of laughter, stomping feet, and the creak-creak of the wooden swing that hung from the old guava tree. Now, only the rustling of wind through dry leaves remained, whispering secrets to no one in particular.
By Shehzad Khanabout a year ago in Poets
Rumbling Through My Thoughts
So many rules cosplaying exceptions So many broken hearts mascarading as healed So many naive acting like gurus So many fearful playing fearless Oh to be lost and found by lost souls that pretend to be found It's like being loved by someone on their last straw, they'll be your last straw Try try try again, not with my heart...I beg Try Try try again, not with my mind...I plead Try try try again, by yourself this time By myself this time Echoes of righteousness, I wish were mine Humming of abundance, I hear from afar. Don't mind me, I'm just rumbling through my thoughts Rumbling through you Hoping to stumble upon the answers
By Ropafadzo Thokozani Zinyuke (Fadzo) about a year ago in Poets
Virtual ward care and me
A Little Note From Me Dear friends, I wanted to let you know why I’ve gone a little quiet. Last week, I had a frightening health scare — a panic attack on the phone with my brother turned into something more, and I ended up in hospital overnight. They found that my heartbeat was out of rhythm, and while most tests came back fine, there was a concern that needed follow-up. I’m now on medication and home on a virtual ward, being monitored closely.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
The Clockmaker’s Gift
The air in Mira’s childhood home in Chittagong was thick with the scent of old wood and monsoon damp. At twenty-seven, she was a freelance writer, accustomed to the frenetic pace of city life in Dhaka. But now, standing in the living room where her father once read her bedtime stories, she felt unmoored. His sudden passing two weeks ago had brought her back to this house, a place she hadn’t visited in years.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Poets
