Stream of Consciousness
The Stranger on the Train
The Stranger on the Train It was one of those evenings when the city felt like it was exhaling — not quite asleep, not fully alive. The 6:47 PM train groaned into the station just as I reached the platform, breathless, coat flapping behind me like a half-forgotten wing. I slid into an empty seat, grateful to have caught it. Another day survived.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Poets
Beneath the Willow Tree
The first time Noah saw the girl beneath the willow tree, she was sketching the sky like it might disappear any second. It was the middle of July, and the park was hot and green, full of kids screaming and sprinklers spinning in suburban rhythm. But under the oldest willow, a girl sat alone with a pencil, a notebook, and a thousand-yard stare that looked right through time.
By Shakil Sorkarabout a year ago in Poets
The Clockmaker’s Gift
In the heart of a fog-drenched town nestled between the mountains and the sea, stood a little clock shop that defied the passing of time. It was not a place most people noticed, even if they walked by it every day. The wood-paneled sign simply read: Avery's Timepieces, and in the dust-speckled window sat a curious array of ticking machines—some no larger than a coin, others towering like soldiers frozen in brass.
By Shakil Sorkarabout a year ago in Poets
