by Narmadhaa Sivaraja They observe,from the sidelinesbehind human boundariesmutely. Ghosts of past,felled by hunters,now shed skins, peeling,naturally. Wheels pass by,not unlike time,in twos, threes, and sixes—boundless. Fiercely defiant,owners of the land,masked in ashen white—eucalypti. Narmadhaa (or N) writes haiku, free verse, opinion articles, and flash fiction on The Chaos Within. N has a self-published travel haiku collection on Amazon Kindle, Read More
Tag: Narmadhaa Sivaraja N
To me you are,
by Narmadhaa Sivaraja (N) Have you ever washed a coffee plunger? The jug is the easy part. The filter, however, is a wet mess of clingy dregs that’ve made their way into the tiniest of pores, overstaying their welcome like guests who’d muddied your carpets, who’d forgotten what cleanup meant, or how to spot the puddles of molten wax on Read More