Woodwork
My affection, it grew like a tree
Reaching out words like branches
Chopped & sanded till you swept up the scraps
With a broom of the twigs that fell off.
My affection, it grew like a tree
Reaching out words like branches
Chopped & sanded till you swept up the scraps
With a broom of the twigs that fell off.
Celebrations are things you don’t exactly notice until you have to make a conscious effort to make them happen. Christmas season has been an integral part of my life for years and years now – one of the consequences of growing up in a Christian environment and having a devout…
Red is the colour.
A brooding player. A sensitive charmer. We are running parallel monologues.
I miss my anonymity. I miss the charm of, “So who is Ideasmith really?” I miss the lightness of being unknown.
I tried limericking. I didn’t follow syllable count rules. Saying something in 5 lines in rhyme and being funny was challenge enough.
An ode to my world at the stroke of midnight on new year. I look to all the corners to the people who matter to me and feel reassured in my contentment.