I don't speak from my heart, The things which cannot be said. I notice them with my brain, The little things.

Most months in the city were hot. One competed with another. As though they were trying to see which one of them sizzled more.

It may be a cryptic remark, an unfinished story, Or a deathly poison disguised as a melody.

Today is hotter than the other days. The heat feels more exasperating on my black feather as black absorbs more heat. Pigeons are still flying restlessly up above where I am fully exhausted by the heat and pandemonium of this city.

My skeleton wrapped in this tawny skin, To Medusa, I feel akin.

Billions of faces I see, Billions of lives, breathe, The sound of all their souls drifting through.

It had been weeks since Adil met Taranna and both of them ended up being paired up for the upcoming dance competition. Adil felt like he was only doing it since his name was unfortunate enough to be called during the draw. But as the days passed, that mindset slowly started to change.

How I was writhing in pain! You used to observe me in silence, From the other side of my agony. And, here at this side, always remained amassed huff.

The sky was a sleeping shade of air-brushed grey. Ashen, pastel, grey. But soon it woke up as dark, furious clouds tempered its mood, evading its tranquillity and the sky, slowly turning deeper, duly started its tantrum.

As I stretch out onto my bed, my eyes drooped. Master had been at “the gym” all day today, so there were no pesky interruptions in my observation of the winged rodents next door. I believe I have almost cracked their behaviour pattern and will most definitely have one of them as my captive the next time Master forgets to close the barrier between our abodes.

A drop of water, a pouring rain, highlighted by the moonlight, A burnt up winter, a worsening pain, no place where I could hide.

She wasn't exactly the 'turning heads when walking into a room' type of girl. That kind of attention didn't appeal to her to begin with. She had always been more of a keen listener; silence had been her strongest language from the start, and she spoke it fluently. She craved a love that felt right but was also afraid of finding it.

I am what I do not know, Wings of fire, heart of snow.

Even the slightest of sounds can seem piercing, when amidst crystalline silence. And right now, the noise of my own breathing sounds like a storm brewing to me. I try to breathe a bit more quietly, but there is little I can do to wane my thumping heart, which feels and appears to be a ceaseless machine.

There are screams I bear witness to, As I lay awake in my bed. Perhaps the cries of sad and melancholic people, Resonating throughout my head.

A piece of vivid white paper, And a set of bottles of acrylic colour. A new brush, set in front of the protagonist, A story to be painted for the pallor.

“So, where are you headed?” asked the waiter. Although the waiter was a robot, Chris was glad it had been given a female voice. He hadn't had human contact for such a long time. The only reason he took a detour to this space station was so that he could have a brief conversation with another being.

It was hot inside the bus – there was no air-conditioning. I was engulfed by the stench of stale sweat, cheap cologne and a gloomy scent of desolation. What an oxymoron, though, because the bus was anything but empty, with passengers crammed both inside and on the roof, clutching their bags of coconuts and fresh vegetables that they had collected from

On my window pane they stay –

Sleepless night, Running thoughts, But father said, “Sleep fast son.” But it can't be resisted,