The Shiva Trilogy, written by Amish, is a fictional tale of a Tibetan tribal called Shiva, whose adventures nearly 4000 years ago, morphed into the mythical legends of the Hindu God Shiva. The Shiva Trilogy (The Immortals of Meluha, The…
By: – Linda M. Crate always some errand to do something left forgotten spilling into the happiness of autumn, interrupting the peace; wish i had a broom like you could just zoom off and fly to mend any error with a…
By: Linda M. Crate oh, let me bee, i would like to roam free through the skies pollinating flowers with the butterflies – you are sweet with your hair of goldenrod and eyes so blue, but i‘m sorry i tire…
By: Linda M. Crate i‘m just the girl that can’t let go holding onto things long since rotted trying to wish friendships back to life, but once people forget they don’t like to remember or so it seems; i always seem to…
By: Linda M. Crate the sun looks at me lovingly peeping from beneath white clouds, and a bright blue sky pushing me to move on and some days i don’t think of you anymore; but on days like today you‘ve carved…
By: Maya Unnikrishnan His face was crisscrossed with lines, deep lines that formed seams across. His shirt hung loose on his thin bony frame, He had a crop of white hair which contrasted with his skin weather beaten and darkened by…
By: Akash Vikas Rumade It was evening of Dusserah. The moon shone brightly in the dark blue skies although the grey clouds were trying hard to conceal it. On such a wintry night Arnab parked his bike at the pool…
By: Ross Durrence She always made full use of the full-length mirror in her apartment. Before she ever left the house she would take much more than a cursory glance at her appearance, surveying her form from head to toe. She…
By: JP Miller Jacob sat at the porch table, lunching on a tomato sandwich, and stared through the rusty screen door at June-bug. Carefully, tenderly, June-bug whipped the axe through the air and divided a log of oak into two…
By: Richard D. Hartwell My Morning Journal opening entry seems to capture an element of my fixation as a writer. Is there really a compulsion to write? For some there must be, but I think my own compulsion is now…