This poem revolves around a conversation with death. Death is sad and melancholic. In this poem, I have imagined death to be a living creature and penned my thoughts as a conversation with it if I were to enter into
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He stood under the only yellow light in the dingy room, his blank eyes absorbing the theatrical performance outside. Thunder clapped, “Action!” As if on cue, lightening sparkled, blinding the audience and brightening the vast stage acrimoniously, only to die
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Boonstra Brain Function or Boonstra is seven-line stanzaic poem. It is wordic rather than syllabic and follows the 11-10-9-6-4-2-1 word count. Its main rule is that, it has to do with the function of the brain and body. It means, it focuses on the poem character’s
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This poem is of the type The Englyn Unodl Union. Originated from Wales, The Englyn Unodl Union is a syllabic, four-line, three-stanza poem. The first line of each stanza plays a vital role in determining the rhyming scheme of the rest of the
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This poem is of the type ‘The Florette’. Created by Jan Turner, the Florette consists of two or more 4-line stanzas. It follows the syllable count 8-8-8-12 and aaba rhyme scheme. Like the outgrowing of a small flower, the fourth
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Disclaimer: The characters in the story are fictitious and bear no resemblance to the original historical characters. The warm glow of the spotlights in the Birchwood auditorium where we were shooting for Julius Caesar’s play covered me with warmth and
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THE BLAME The monotonous whirring sound of the old fan in my room made me shiver with irritation. Sweat beads creased my brow as I looked up at it and then down at the rusty blade in my hand. The
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AT SIXTY-FIVE Manohar sat on the edge of the ragged cliff looking at the imposing Himalayan mountains far away. The spongy clouds had just parted company with them to sail across the cerulean sky along with the little gusts of
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Note: This story won first place in Penmancy’s #HarnessWriting Contest. The Aftermath I blinked in a desperate attempt to open my heavy eyelids. The drops of water sprinkled on me pierced like needles. I loved the cool, enigmatic darkness and
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Still standing majestic over stretches of green lawn A silent testimony to the heartless ravages of time, Its careful makeup stripped, now replaced by grime, The old church, once a godly umbrella, is pathetically torn. The kaleidoscopic light streaming
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