rainy poetry nights, lilac fragrance, or golden September mornings, what are you made of, I wonder.
ash-cinder volcanoes, lava flows, or the vastness of your silence, what burns more.
rusted embrace, the fall of Rome, or an empty bookshelf, what you look like when you cry.
Woolf’s suicide letter, Dobby’s death, or you looking right through me, what hurts more.
Messi scoring a goal, Big Ben on a sunny day, or the smell of rich leather, what makes you happy.
broken meteor, a tiny whisper from God, or tulips showering from the sky, what will unite us on a Wednesday, I wonder.
Simra Sadaf has finished her Masters in English Literature from University Of Madras. She pursued her Bachelors in Sociology and has an abundant knowledge about the workings of a society, which she incorporates her writings. She loves the art of storytelling and someday hopes to write something that will leave a lasting impact on the readers. Literature drives her spirit and words churn her soul.