Hark! The rhythm
Hark! The rhythm. The pellet drum rattles. The dance begins. The creation, the annihilation, the fleeing in-betweens, and beyond these appar...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
-
The sun was nearly gone. So were the last of his passengers. That was what he thought. Driving the cab at snail-pace through city’s traffi...
-
He went there. Daily. Unfailingly. His conversations, Candid, Intimate. And why not! He had Inspired That iron-man, ...
-
The 12 inch heel, the confident gait, The measured steps, the sudden halt, The blush on cheeks, the smoldering eyes, The hands on h...
This post is all credits to Shailaja of The Moving Quill:https://shailajav.wordpress.com/2015/07/15/night-to-remember-microfiction/
ReplyDelete.........and your verse had left an indelible mark.
ReplyDeleteThank you Kalpana. It is good to hear such encouragement.
DeleteThis paints such a lovely picture in my mind!
ReplyDeleteThat sounds really good.
DeleteSo many delicious words!
ReplyDeleteAm glad you like them all.
DeleteOh goodness :) You did all the work, really no need to credit me at all, Ruby :) Loving the sensuous intensity in the lines! What every writer feels.
ReplyDeleteThank you Shailaja for your kind words, support and encouragement. And trust me you did help me in my moment of doubt.
DeleteI rather enjoyed the artistry of artistry.
ReplyDeleteArtistry of artistry ... I just loved your words here. Thank you so much Todd.
DeleteBeautiful. I loved this piece and how you wrote in
ReplyDeleteThank you Jasbir. It is always a pleasure hearing from you.
Delete