How can those days wondrous be forgotten,
days when you on me poured your affection?
Didn’t you treat me as if I were your son?
How can those days wondrous be forgotten,
Speaking about his published novel entitled ‘King’s Signet’, the author, who lives in North Carolina, says it was initially intended to be a short story for a fantasy magazine. ‘That was in 2018. But I kept on getting ideas while writing other pieces, so what was supposed to be a short story turned into a novel which I finally published in June this year,’ he tells us.
Do you know what the word ‘mean’ means?
Oops! I sure am not being mean;
Also, I’m ware you’ve many means
to approach the college dean.
I’m happy you’re very mean!
The simple present tense (also known as present simple or present indefinite tense) is not that simple. In fact, this is one of the few tenses that tends to give learners of the English language terrible nightmares. Some learners may get jitters upon hearing the words ‘simple present’. And the reason for this tense being complicated is the fact that it makes use of two forms of a verb: the first form (go, eat, drink, sleep, talk, etc.) and the fifth form (goes, eats, drinks, sleeps, talks, etc.).
Like a jewel thou shineth, dark thou sendeth home.
Planets eight thou holdeth, showing thy might;
Were you absent, would exist a stone?
‘Both happiness and sorrow never stay.
This is what indicate the stars and the Moon.
Time matters to all of us; that’s why
Oft I stay and at times fade away too soon.’
You once told me that you didn’t believe Rome burned in a day because great things don’t fall apart like that. So when you held my hand and promised to hold everything that comes with it―sunshine and storms― I believed in you. I let you in with all the trust I could ever give. You did not rush me with my walls and so I put them down. When you asked about my scars, I told you their stories without holding back the ugliest details, and you kissed them all to heal. For the first time, I felt infinite. It didn’t matter if I would forget writing sad proses, even if that’s what I’m good at.
Author Christian Towers began writing stories at the tender age of nine. That was also the age he began creating short comic books incorporating superheroes and other types of action heroes of his creation. ‘This eventually flourished into a love for films and film making. Also, I decided to become a director of films when I grew up at about the same time. Despite opposition from the family, the dream persisted several years. However, as the years passed, and when I entered high school, I felt what mattered to me was not so much making films but being a storyteller in general. That is when being a film director became less important to me, and the author life grew more appealing,’ the Florida-based author, who hails from Puerto Rico, begins, speaking to the Literary Express in an exclusive interaction.
I can’t believe December’s here;
This year’s been like a bad dream.
From Covid to typhoons to floods,
things have gotten too extreme.
Angered, Belittled, Chagrined, Depressed
By Christina’s Demanding Eyes,
Charlie Did Everything Flagrantly:
Dancing, Eating, Fighting Guys.
Eyeing Friends Gamble Houses
For Ghastly Hemp, Ice,
‘God!’ He Iterated ‘ Justified?’
Poet Nirmal Parashar’s writing journey began with a quote he had read in the book ‘The Light of Asia’: Leave love for love of lovers. ‘This powerful quote has only remained etched on my mind since I read it,’ says the poet, speaking to the Literary Express in an exclusive interaction. He tells us that because he was an introvert, he used to spend more time with books than with friends during his school and college days. ‘Nonetheless, during adolescence, the curiosity to understand the word “love” became intense,’ he states with a smile, adding, ‘And although I was hardly familiar with this, I was curious to know how it feels to love and be loved.’
Coordinates require input, chance comes accidentally,
Rendezvous a meeting point, you do saunter aimlessly.
Vector an interception course, we cross paths randomly
Anticipation is foresight, I never imagined such beauty.
Cold moon flows
our love sick fantasies
sculpts desire of swallowed fame
oh, long lost symphonies!
Curtain falls on blazing seduction
slaying us over and over again
lighting the dark, curse upon us
until shadows remain.
You’re tormenting me like a restless, malicious spirit I can’t be rid of. You shall be an ever-present reminder of my cowardice, of my original nature long-lost and yet too, a beast discovered that’s forever concealed in me; one that hungers, thirsts, craves.
Once lived a proud and happy prince
in a palace too grand and fine.
‘Bout sadness and pain he knew not;
He knew to drink from nine to nine.
Waking up to the lazy winter sun,
Perched on a tree sings a lark.
Lives seem indolent and lethargic,
Snow falls softly while the day is still dark.
If only I knew where the sky begins,
and were I only ware of where it ends;
I’d state how many stars incandesce here
and also ’bout each thing that our earth tends;
The answers I shall give with no defense.
Author Morwenna Blackwood avers she doesn’t recall ever starting to write. ‘It’s just something I have always done,’ she begins, speaking to the Literary Express in an exclusive interaction. She goes on to state matter-of-factly that the first proper story she wrote was about a frog. ‘And that was when I was six years old,’ she tells us with a smile.