In dreams a social worker, but in reality a dreamer. I strike a truce with warring words. I defend them yet I vex them. I like them yet I exasperate them. Just a note of caution, don't take my words too seriously, I like to laugh at myself often and I recommend everyone should do that. It is insanely liberating. I want to do a course on practical application of humour in social work. Is there any colleges out there willing to take me in?
My mother visit her kiwi everyday, Her fingers reaching out to where her kiwi lay. Like rough moss on smooth pebble, Her kiwi shone like gold amidst the rubble.
The blank page taunts me, dares me to write something bad. Here is my reply ( Blank ).
Many a times in my infinite dreams, Symbols appear in neat black rows.
The cat raises his paw. I can see the yearning in its emerald green eyes. But my biscuit is rubber. It is a fake artificial lump of rubber. He will choke to death if he feast on it.