Ayan Chakraborty in Poetry | Reads: 73 | Likes: 0
This letter will be like a rusty old machine, stop-starting in its flow, lubricated with random emotionslong after their expiry dates.
This letter is about the anxious waitfor a soldier’s last words, to arrive in its neat foldsfinally finding peace in the mailbox.
These blotches and str Read More...
The teenager stopped close to the old-fashioned wooden double door at the junction of the two streets. He took a moment to gaze up at the building that stood modestly in a row
of beautifully decorated flourishing high rises. Bare red bricks formed the skeleton of the one storey est Read More...
Ayan Chakraborty in Poetry | Reads: 208 | Likes: 1
Serving as the roots to my people, I stand alone today.
Littered streets and broken bridges make my rubble.
Everything changes with time,
it makes me question, have I changed for the better?
My sky does not wear blue anymore,
and the seasons have crossed borders.
The green fields I so adored have l Read More...
Ayan Chakraborty in Mystery | Reads: 318 | Likes: 2
Mr Walter concluded that he was being followed. He took a glance at his watch, trying to stay unperturbed.
It was 1 a.m. He walked along the pavement, narrowly turning his head and shifting his eyes on either side at regular intervals to keep track of the stranger behind him. It was a man, he Read More...
The idea of a weekend at our grandparents’ when we were kids had a spring in our steps that provided the stiffest competition to being handed out ice pops. Never mind the clothes; our priority was to rummage in the cupboard for all the toys that could fit into our shiny backpacks. In the clim Read More...
Published on Apr 19,2020 12:37 AM
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