Truth Is…Truth

Nothing is true. Everything, every glimpse, holds falsity. The world, its peoples, even life itself submits to imitation. Why? Truth seems so vacant, its features so welcoming, its voice so enchanting yet all things mock and taunt this deep beauty, staining it, making it impure until even truth’s beautiful form becomes a lie…

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The Twilight Tree

The tree flinched as a cloud of bats crashed against him, startling him. He abhorred bats and everything of night’s kingdom. The nights were always lonely; he could never hear the songs or witness small fights. There was no hustle and bustle, no light just silence and stars in the dark sky witnessing his fear, never speaking, never moving. Night became worse with each minute, darkness darkened, silence increased and his fear heightened. Cold breeze whispered like a ghost in his ear and pale shadows played everywhere in his sight. How could he not be scared?

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Who Are You As A Writer?

It is, no doubt, a thought that knocks the gates of every young writer’s mind that who is he? What is he? Does he even matter or not? The answers to these absurd sounding questions is not as easy to understand as it seems and even if by chance you learn their meaning, you cannot comprehending their stature and enormity…

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