Wish her happy birthday… Today I have turned one. I still remember the day I was born. I opened my bleary eyes and looked around. Like other newborns, I didn’t cry. But everybody else did. My eyes darted from one person to another in the hospital room. The void within me was spreading like wildfire. Suddenly, my hand jerked back
» Read moreWhat lies behind us, and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us. The fairest and sweetest of all in the office! Many years back, one Mr. Grace Light (literal translation of his name; no, will not reveal the language) joined our office on deputation. An office assistant, he proved an asset, with his resourceful
» Read moreIntro: A deep felt desire for the young ones to grow at a pace we all grew in, enjoying other things along the way and thinking, observing, learning, un-learning, doing by themselves, with their own refreshing ways and means, originality intact. Wish we adults tampered less with their growth. A prayer on behalf of all the young ones!
» Read moreIntro: A thought followed by a question had been troubling the poet for quite sometime. Sets about to find the answer and comes across many substantiating facts that confirm his belief. No matter how falsehoods are spreading with ferocity, aided by money and muscle power, Ultimately, “Truth Alone Triumphs”! Does Truth Ever Die Does truth ever die? Or a
» Read moreAfter I wrote this poem, I thought it belonged here on ukauthors.com–I had fun with this one.
» Read moreThis is possibly something to rile both the believer and the unbeliever. But maybe I’m wrong. Even the briefest of comments would be appreciated.
» Read moreAll my creative life certain people have gone out of their way to denigrate every creative work and you wonder why when they create so little or nothing at all… COLD IS ENVIOUS IS My heart pumps ink blood berg-clogged Course erratic within skins of tundra vellum Nibs of pointed ice pierce parch meant Calving shelves of unsung
» Read moreInspired by the towers rising up out of the LA fogs. Towers Above the Clouds To the drum of Mammon vertical galley crews dip their small white oars in lattes. Water-cooler sirens sing to the whip-crack of sales their Dow-bows parting Math’s Sargasso Seas. The mail-boy drools in the I.T. pools where wage-slaves sway in the scan-thralls of Xerox.
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