He was born on a day that soon came to be celebrated,
Started walking, at the age of four,
Only to start falling again on the floor
Didn't know what to do all alone.
10 years later, he felt his eyes tear,
When his parents scolded him for something.
Soon, he saw waste in everything,
And couldn't bring himself to do anything.
Many seasons have passed,
He could not get over it,
The fact was that he would not forget it even a bit,
Although he had everyone, he could do nothing but sit.
About the Creator
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More stories from Ch. Nikshith Ram and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Lesions of Devotion
Every day I set myself down on the freshly cut lawn and strip myself bare. I take my guitar and finger the frets and pick at the strings, listening for dissonance. My life is dissonance. I twist the tuning pegs until each string sounds bright. Then I kneel, calves pointing behind me, kneecaps facing forward. All exposed to the breeze. I close my eyes and play the melody.
By Paul Stewart5 days ago in Fiction
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I just felt that somebody should read this!