Category: Anubhav Sharma

“He never really sleeps.   A head resting on weary, bony shoulders. A head full of dreams – inexplicable, unreasonable dreams that corrupted his thoughts.

Clutched that last pinecone, as it threatened to tumble out of my arms, and when I look up You, father, are clutching your chest, with

The light turns red The corners of your smile twitch, As you struggle to say “God, I miss the summers, And why is it That