Articles, essays, poems, short stories and tips on writing

  And I thought it would be the same. I thought it would all be just like before, but one matter is to lean on old memories in which everything was covered in tolerance, protection and joy and even a sense of unity, and another matter, utterly different, is to witness decay. Many years had passed, and in those old days the morning sun would cast its light through the windows as if it was announcing a jolly "good morning" and the birds would perch onto the mango tree right outside, all singing like a morning choir. The rattle in the spacious kitchen was certainly not noise, but a sound that would wake you up alongside the aroma of recently brewed coffee, and just the thought of waking up to that scene would make, even the laziest soul, wake up in a rush just to experience the events that would take place right outside the bedroom.   The kitchen was the heart of that house - just like many others, I'd presume - in which early morning visits would bring along a "good mo...

  CONVERSING And the room was dimmed by the pale light of a candle which cast his curved shadow against the wall. Even his shadow seemed more alive than he ever had been. "Pale Tortured Blue" being played, And it crushed him, And he knew it, And it tortured him, And he knew it, It was painful, And he knew it. "Your soul seems to want to leave the cage of your body, my dear." "I see you're back after such a long time." "And I see you have missed me dearly." The bottle of darkened red wine standing right in front of him as he took it and gently poured some of its content in a glass. He then poured some more in another glass as he lit up a thin menthol cigarette. Oh, and the melody of the song playing sadness and sorrow, a festival of tears and pain engulfing his being, tightening around his already shattered heart, And it crushed him, And his soul crying for mercy, And the prison of his body keeping it locked, And he knew it.   "I have per...