Owl Poetry & Prose

Hansi was sweeping the garden with an ekel broom when a Defender drove up and stopped next to her. Hansi’s mother was watching from...

Sunday. Funday apparently. The South West monsoon has set in so the gloom of rain was very real. It was gonna be a wet...

Perhaps we should have been just friends. You know. Not crossed that bloody line. That fine line which sometimes cuts your neck under the...

Mondays are somehow never a source of joy for anyone who does a 9 to 5. For some reason it heralds trepidation more than...

Wounded lips Enlarged hips A week of splurging on kevum, kokis Ah what bliss when one can eat As if the fat don’t matter,...

Today the demons They are at bay On many nights they oft come out to play Plaguing one’s thoughts, toying with pain Driving in...

Some of the greatest music I know was introduced to me by a few assholes. Yes. Men or rather men who need to grow...

Borella Kanatta. Cemetery of the dead, wielder of ghosts of the past and guilt of the present. Today there were three funerals taking place....

Oh ladies of yon I have but a confession to make Of a habit of late that I long to partake It involves the...

Chris was staring over the newspapers at his wife Nimani. She was still at the dining table clearing the breakfast things. Chris was relaxing...