It is the darkest hour of the night, and I am waiting for dawn. To see the pink of the sky, and the misty morn. The night looks beautiful, in it’s dark. It brings glory and repute to the morning spark. It is easy for us to feel the beauty of the day. But the dark night serenely comes and goes away. It is night’s magic, that we can see the smallest star. The beauty of the night is in it’s darkest hour.
I have been writing since I was in class five, and I have written (like many others) for myself and kept my writings hidden in the pages of my diary. After 10 years of office and family duties I finally brought the writer in me out of the closet and started sharing my writings on public forums. The first time I did so , my story was selected by Penguin Publishers and Mrs Sudha Murty and published in an anthology "Something Happened on the Way to Heaven". This encouraged me to share my works further. So here I am ...
Standing on the road, that diverges at the end One way leads to green glory, another to the dark lane The lane never travelled, is the one I wish for As Darkness chased me, but I followed a star Standing
It was night’s fury whipping up hysteria on specks of flames, dancing in pain. On a heap of ashes and bones where a child of death will be born. Before fading, moon will kiss the golden thighs of sun and
Cashmere, super playboy cologne and a little bit of gold and silver well I’m beginning to see everything in a whole new light this rainy Monday… Yesterday was not my day but now I know everything’s gonna be alright, everything’s
In love’s brief hour, A new joy is born, quite uncommon, Spelling rhythms of stepping affair coming up. Half drawn eyes glowing, full of fineries, Giving gentle knocks in hesitating heart. It is the glorious hour, being in passion fever,