The dying star bled dismally as we floated around it. If one were to trace our path , the lines… Read more Dying Star

The dying star bled dismally as we floated around it. If one were to trace our path , the lines… Read more Dying Star
the question of reputation in the social, such that every move assumes measure, in terms of what is revealed… entry… Read more Damage Control
Gathering a poem that spurt out with a gentle strumming of nylon strings, I find myself, leaning against the wall,… Read more The World and Fantasy
I have been disciplining my fingers for the longest time to suit your methods. My fingers have been following the… Read more Ecstatic
I saw a thinking man ciphering the shiver of his thoughtless hands as he walked to here from nowhere… Read more Thinker’s Hand
two leaves… only two leaves… two leaves! More than two leaves… three leaves… not that many leaves… less than four… Read more counting leaves
why have you been hiding your hands behind your face, my friend… your eyes are beautiful, but it is your… Read more friend, hand and heart
It was a strange day, I remember… water dripping upwards… no one seemed to notice it though, only me…… Read more Shivering Moon
I caught him looking at me when I opened my eyes, grandpa. I had been aware, that he was looking… Read more Old Man or Eyes and Lies
There is a belief hereabouts, that the worst of the lot should be tossed out of the window, with no… Read more Flying and Embarrassment
A theatre (mostly review) blog with swag
A blog dedicated to flora, fauna and all the wonderful things in nature.
Weirdo Wasteland is an Australian-based music blog that examines musical endeavour from the cultural fringe. The site regularly features reviews and interviews from the underground scenes from Australia and New Zealand. Weirdo Wasteland acknowledges the original custodians of the land upon which it operates. Sovereignty has never been ceded. To get in touch, contact: weirdowasteland (at) gmail.com
Bird Silent
Ceaselessly Sinking In Aesthetic Art & Mediocre Metaphors
The scars of my soul bleed through words in the form of poetry.
Within the well of silence , are thoughts that awaken the soul.....
_aditi_jamwal