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“Where am I,” questioned Zohara unafraid.

“You are where you need to be—the anywhere place,” remarked the young man.

Zohara looks at the handsome young man, his hair, his deep voice and brownish eyes that seem to stare into her soul. “I don’t understand, can you just tell me where I am.”

“I actually cannot, and the location is foreign to your comprehension,” remarked the young man. “You must realize and please keep an open mind that any explanation about this place will prove to be too fantastic. Your mind will not be able to process it, not yet.”

Zohara, surprisingly is not upset but looks away and saw their surroundings transforming into a downtown that appeared to be from another time. The city looks like her home but different, older and dirtier. She saw people wearing clothes she only saw in her history book during the brief period of…

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Good evening everyone, and welcome to another installment of the Friday Night Poetry Corner. This week I am showcasing a poem that is nicely written with them of psychological intrigue. This poet, Muskan Sharma’s fantastic poem called “Two children” is a must read. Enjoy, but please read it with the lights on.

Shethinker

At the stroke of midnight hour
I can hear murmur and the sound of footsteps
Moving around in the house.
The sound of things being shifted and moved
From here and there wake me up
But i pay not much heed.
And for the next 45 min it goes on.
In the morning when the sunlight drags itself in And the tranquil fills in my home
I see everything better than it was yesterday,
Nothing seems to be broken,
And nothing seems to be missing,
Before i leave the house to slog myself
In the chaotic verse of corporate
My home looks as good as it could ever get.
No pile of clothes, no dishes undone,
No TV remote lying on the floor.
Even microwave is switched off,
But that’s not how i expect it to be,
I am a slave to the outer world,
And a prisoner of my…