Broken hands

Don't you believe, we are stuck in this room. You have a red box at the corner, and I have a blue one on the other side. We meet once in a while, to talk about our sorrowful lives and shames, in disguise. Our hands, worn out wrists too brittle now even our eyes don't meet. What have … Continue reading Broken hands

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Our own prisoners

We cling to the ideas that we accumulate in order to give meaning to our existence. These ideas or beliefs either reflect our hidden insecurity towards certain aspects of life or portrays the course that we consider to be safe for our survival. Certainly, these beliefs are the fruits grown from the seeds that we had sown … Continue reading Our own prisoners