Making Beauty (The Beholder Knows)

“A child’s life is like a piece of paper on which every passerby leaves a mark.” -Chinese Proverb Every word I read on WP is shared here with good intention to pass along words of encouragement or healing or spur on thought. To have us look beyond ourselves and see others. To imagine a worldContinue reading “Making Beauty (The Beholder Knows)”


This air has a persistent feeling of death. I can hear cries of mothers. Their wail is loud enough to choke the molecules around my ear yet I keep my eyes on the wall and watch the bricks falling. Sitting inside a home feels worse when spring is falling asleep. On the tender branch ofContinue reading “Effervescent—Sameera”

Motif Lately —Daniel Paul Marshall

Motif Lately   The bloated bleating, cross-wired metonym. A chasm, chiasmus;—this stainless steel fork & knife for splitting pictures of a body. Folds & creases in zoom, gorges—the eyeball, scrupulous, dilated pupils: Earth from space, cocooned in the milk of gods—a lukewarm swab to rim the eyes, crusty rheum scooped out; the thankless trees, becomeContinue reading “Motif Lately —Daniel Paul Marshall”

She Loves Broken Things —Sidharth

As the moon malevolently beams My nightmares blossom like roses during springs. But tonight, I hope to meet her in my dreams For, I’ve heard, she loves broken things. I’ve heard, in her eyes burn countless constellations While that winged seraph plays her harp’s strings. Hopefully, she’ll quell my horror laden hallucinations For, I’ve heard,Continue reading “She Loves Broken Things —Sidharth”

It is in the mood to rain —Kritika

It’s going to rain, for you never know it could be echoing somebody’s pain; the feelings that were so strong, for the emotions held for long, though the time was less, but the moment was a caress; like a feather touch precious to hold onto, but, it flowed out like water, unstoppable yet nurturer. TheContinue reading “It is in the mood to rain —Kritika”

Validation—Mike Ennenbach

every smile validates the cold frost that dapples the windows leading to the soulbarren desert of just desserts from whence the tawdry expectation of inexplicable palpation seeks home in biting whorls of detrimental defiance the time clock validates the grand entrance into the vestibules of night Read more —Mike Ennenbach