Loneliness is magical Dewy tears in a dark space Conjuring images of you; Breathless whispers turn To a white noise, yet Sleep eludes, and I embrace Another wakeful night. When the fog rolls in The mist kisses all of me Warm, clammy, musky. Wild scents of promises Permeates, as muted sighs Only to remind of tenderness And endless snuggles Under winter afghans!
A lonely childhood Peering outside Tracing frost fairies On a chilly windowpane Whispering a wish For tender icicle streaks To fly far far away! Her dreams grow wings Like gossamer butterflies When she touches them Powdery dust crumbles In tiny, empty hands Flickering like stars That drive her destiny
I received some lovely feedback on this piece today.
Visions of foliage, lush, verdant When dried leaves crunch below My weary feet, as I trudge along In the silver shadows of alone Seeking solace, a hand to hold In the woods of life, worn-out, old The end in sight, yet so distant
When you don’t feel belonged, you are isolated, lonely, and then the voices in the head become larger than life, and the fine line between the real and the perceived diminishes.
The short story is a strong but difficult medium. In many ways it is more potent than a novel because it can leave an impact with few words, consuming little time. An observant writer can concoct many stories using everyday themes and images, telling extraordinary tales about ordinary people, evoking emotions and reactions from a diverse readership. In the preface to The Goat Thief, prolific Tamil short story writer, Perumal Murugan, talks about his own tryst with the skill of story writing and how he came to evolve his own style and rendition.