Experience reading like never before
Sign in to continue reading.
Discover and read thousands of books from independent authors across India
Visit the bookstore"It was a wonderful experience interacting with you and appreciate the way you have planned and executed the whole publication process within the agreed timelines.”
Subrat SaurabhAuthor of Kuch Woh PalSwarnima Ruria, under her penname Iris, is the author of her debut book Letters to the Blue Moon. Her penchant for scribbling poems as an expression of herself began ever since she learned how to write properly. Alongside pursuing her bachelor’s in English at Delhi University, she works as a copywriter for an IT company and teaches high schoolers science and English. Establishing herself at an early age of twenty, she plans on adding more feathers to her quill collection. Her personal life, however, is nothing short of adventures. 11/10 would recommend becoming friends with her and readiRead More...
Swarnima Ruria, under her penname Iris, is the author of her debut book Letters to the Blue Moon. Her penchant for scribbling poems as an expression of herself began ever since she learned how to write properly. Alongside pursuing her bachelor’s in English at Delhi University, she works as a copywriter for an IT company and teaches high schoolers science and English. Establishing herself at an early age of twenty, she plans on adding more feathers to her quill collection. Her personal life, however, is nothing short of adventures. 11/10 would recommend becoming friends with her and reading her poetry, given you are ready to dabble in impulsive acts, stan twitter lingo and, of course, are into lengthy discourses on romanticism, a hedonistic lifestyle, dark humour and literary memes.
Read Less...Achievements
At the fork road,
The old symphonies lay rotten.
An ode to the wailing of none.
Hushed whispers of old breeze,
Resounded the path,
Like the bloody water drowning the sun.
Bleed step by step.
Howl, but don’t make a noise.
’Twas the silent moon.
At the fork road,
The old symphonies lay rotten.
An ode to the wailing of none.
Hushed whispers of old breeze,
Resounded the path,
Like the bloody water drowning the sun.
Bleed step by step.
Howl, but don’t make a noise.
’Twas the silent moon.
Are you sure you want to close this?
You might lose all unsaved changes.
The items in your Cart will be deleted, click ok to proceed.