LitWeekend

The familiar tracks frequented by toiling farmersAre lost to the spreading lines of blackness That stretches its colonising claws from cities,Crawling maliciously towards the emerald...

Afternoon coffee_ watching the Winter raindrops mate on our glass window.white sheets and furs between the warmth of our skin. feets smuggling to Yiruma’s...

To the mother who is struggling to find rest amidst the chaos,May you find a home very soon.To the mother boiling with rage and...

My train only likes to travel on the dark track of idleness.The passengers were never sure of their destination.They drink and merry to the...

THIS transient seasonthe plants get to pause from all the growingthe ground is not soft and not fine enough to be blown off the roadthe farmers store...