ONION

Peeling the Onion ‘Onions make me cry.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I meant what I just said – “onions make me cry”.’ ‘Oh you are so prosaic.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I meant what I just said – “you are prosaic”.’ ‘Prose-ike! Well, there is no poetry in onion for sure!’ ‘On the contrary, onion …

SATIN

Where are we ? And what would you ask of me? you nor i can say, and i cannot repay you with tales of archetypal destiny, for i simply cannot perceive any. walking down a narrow street with smells ever amorous, it greets my senses with a foreboding applause. i see a lonely man wrapped …

IGNORANCE

Saffron indulges of the sensual mind. I left when hearts would not beat any longer for You or I, I walked till the ash of love resurfaced from ‘neath the ground and left with every step, a forest, unnoticed.