Category Archives: Tales

I sometimes write short stories and poems. I hope you enjoy reading these moments of brief encounter, of loss, of love, of epiphany, and of surrender.

Untitled Piece

You have his curly hair tumbling on your face, harmless yet fierce, challenging you to brush them away and to tilt your chin and smile at the sun. The smile is his, the way your eyes meet your lips as

Untitled Piece

You have his curly hair tumbling on your face, harmless yet fierce, challenging you to brush them away and to tilt your chin and smile at the sun. The smile is his, the way your eyes meet your lips as

Tea Bag

Your heart sits in my life like a wet, big, unwanted tea bag Seeping into the ivory wallpaper by my bedside And turning the bed sheets we have shared for many years Into a shade of old memories made by

Tea Bag

Your heart sits in my life like a wet, big, unwanted tea bag Seeping into the ivory wallpaper by my bedside And turning the bed sheets we have shared for many years Into a shade of old memories made by

The Thing About You

The beautiful thing about you is that when you smoke your little white stick or obsess about the string on your beads or complain that i eat too slow and tell me i don’t know how to manage my stress

The Thing About You

The beautiful thing about you is that when you smoke your little white stick or obsess about the string on your beads or complain that i eat too slow and tell me i don’t know how to manage my stress

Homme…

I wrote this two years ago and decided to revisit it today. Was fun to write. Enjoy 😉 ————————– I think, if I was a man, I’d wear a tweed jacket every day, I’d roll up my trousers and wear

Homme…

I wrote this two years ago and decided to revisit it today. Was fun to write. Enjoy 😉 ————————– I think, if I was a man, I’d wear a tweed jacket every day, I’d roll up my trousers and wear

The Break

I wrote a short story a few years ago…  maybe you can call it a poem, I’m not sure. But here it is. It was inspired by a painting ~  Leonid Pasternak: At The Window: Autumn 1913 (see below). She

The Break

I wrote a short story a few years ago…  maybe you can call it a poem, I’m not sure. But here it is. It was inspired by a painting ~  Leonid Pasternak: At The Window: Autumn 1913 (see below). She

A rainy afternoon…

“You have reached Notting Hill Gate, smoking is not permitted on the London Underground, please keep all belongings with you…” with a great rush, arms, legs, suitcases, umbrellas and my old boots from a boutique in Bricklane all step off

A rainy afternoon…

“You have reached Notting Hill Gate, smoking is not permitted on the London Underground, please keep all belongings with you…” with a great rush, arms, legs, suitcases, umbrellas and my old boots from a boutique in Bricklane all step off

A Bowl of Salt

The tale begins by the crevice of a mountain where a small house squats. It was built by Alim’s great grandfather, the greatest goat herder of the valley, a man of softness and compassion. Mai moved in on her eighteenth

A Bowl of Salt

The tale begins by the crevice of a mountain where a small house squats. It was built by Alim’s great grandfather, the greatest goat herder of the valley, a man of softness and compassion. Mai moved in on her eighteenth