I am emotionally torn todayTen years since my lady was lowered away Nostalgic memories hit meBut fears do not haunt meClouds of the past engulf meBut tears do not flood me My writing desk is in disarrayI wonderWould she approve of me today Regretful feelings within meBut fears do not consume meShadows of the future ...

We were young, still in our cocoons when we first met. Flora morphed into a beautiful butterfly, sooner than me. Her wings—the colors of fire, lit the sky. Her flutter stirred many, to reach and pocket her. But free minded, she held her own, unwilling to be caught.   With a grand vision to travel ...

Flutters fill my tummy, the same, uncontrollable butterflies that make an appearance every time he calls.

I cannot wait to fly and touch the sky Above the clouds, beside the Sun and Moon Where Stars stand straight in line and wave their “Hi!” Where Plough and Crux appear to watch me swoon   Where Birds adapt to fly beneath the sea Where Green Sea Turtle races Octopus Where Sally Lightfoot Crab ...

No, bad Anna. No picturing things that sparkle. Or flex. Or resemble any romantic kind of anything with Dylan.

Who do youThink of meTake me forTruly see me? Am I a pawnPart of the gameAll being fairIn the name of love? Am I a mereCasualtyPolitical gainWar and ideals? WomanhoodDeeply desiredStrived forBy boys Wanting to shedTheir skinCasting asideIdeals of men As if chivalryA true gentlemanEradicatedAs it must be The only wayIf one shouldSurvive inOur world ...

I straighten from my perch against the van and step closer to him, standing toe to toe. But not a battling toe-to-toe like with Mrs. Song. This kind is different. Heavy with emotion, a brimming glass ready to spill over.

Powdery white sand shimmers its quartz in sunlight stars twinkle on ground   Singing cardinal joins the drumming woodpecker branches take a bow   Fluttering pupa amidst the dense, tall sand dunes dotted flowers bloom   Sliding waves ashore bring seaweeds, grasses, and more crabs party with bugs   Diving pelican grabs grub by its ...

Warmth bubbles in my chest, like a package of my boys’ Pop Rocks found their way next to my heart.

Born an hour ago, or Day before. You’re One month, or A Hundred years old. Come out and Play.   On March 18th, my friends in neighborhoods around the globe will celebrate Holi. Trays of bright-colored dry powder, Buckets of water, Water-filled balloons, and Golgappas, samosas, gulab jamuns will adorn the tables.   Rules will ...