Ice to water Agony to liberation Illusions thaw Seema Sahoo – ©

The hum of the refrigerator The scratch of the dog’s claw’s on the door Bird songs in the distance It’s very quiet, but There is no such thing as silence  

1. To whom does your heart belong? If not to me; the rose, nor to the thorn? Into the wilderness, my dear, the solitude, in which it was born.   2. Past be done, long gone forgotten. Breathe in this free air now, I’ve chosen…

The path we take A journey we make When times run slow Don’t feel low You may stumble But roads are humble To find your place Stay with the race The sun will rise You will be surprised Watching through tears You will forget your…

soft -stepping gazelle, in woods turning brown; lambent eyes and lustrous skin, she wears a diadem of sorrel keratin. mottled fingers caress slender hands, soft like her name, her lips – and the dulcet tone when she speaks in a shy, halting susurration. soft curve…

Touch me, Run your fingers up and down my spine, No room to be misunderstood, You must read between the lines. Wipe away that naughty look! Although you are in love with me, Keep in mind, I am only a book!  

In a clearing, in a forest Sprites still sing and dance to an enchanted melody. They have done so since time immemorial. They were never delusional; they know the ills of the worlds they choose not to inhabit, But they have created havens: Grew ferns…

You’ve seen me without my face, Without my lipstick and my mistakes, Blemish rests upon these bones, Wearing nothingness: I relish upon my throne. You accept my get-up, But would much rather do without it, Experiencing my shield, The one of foundation and powder. Clear…

I remember one midnight mass years ago. A quaint old church some miles away. Lantern in hand, our boots crunched in the wet grass. Our laughter ringing clear in the empty country field. And thereafter, as beech firewood burnt in the fireplace, We toasted each…

to think without language would be to perceive a reality unwrapped of fabrications, the true of things the image if we forget to talk we forget every page we’ve read in the “how-to” for liars language creates monsters who write themselves out of their monster…