Senryu
A Room That Forgot How to Echo
The clock in the hallway hadn’t ticked in three years. But Mia still wound it every Sunday morning, like muscle memory that refused to forget. The same way she left the porch light on at night. The same way she kept his shoes by the door.
By Shakil Sorkar9 months ago in Poets
The Light Between Two Windows
It was the kind of winter in New York City where even the streetlights looked tired. Snow clung to the sidewalks like forgotten promises, and the city pulsed quietly beneath its usual roar. Somewhere in the East Village, in an aging brownstone split into narrow apartments, two strangers lived across from one another, separated by little more than thirty feet of air and glass.
By Shakil Sorkar9 months ago in Poets
