The name is meeral resourceful model, this time in my hands to glow.
They say we are the pillars of our nation.
Lost nearly all our hopes and started doing something, which we are not born for. we people do anything to make money, we stop to dream when money comes into the play. Our steam is big, no its BIG, only in movies and dramas people follow their dream and became successfull. When it comes to love earth very few making their dream real.
I too dream everyday, my dreams are jus washin away
Still we are fighting within ourselves to come up in love, no matter what we do. Living in the world where we are meant to be a puppet of this society. Someday the true cry will come out, you cannot feed that cry with your money. It will breakout loud enough to make the future so called pillar’s dream come true.
Still dreaming, like APJ and SWAMY said.
I was twenty-seven, in my fifth year of study in an English Ph.D. program, when the director of the program called me into his office.
At the time I had taken a few creative writing classes and written a handful of poems, three or four of which had been published in minor literary magazines. Recently I had been one of two student readers fronting for a featured local poet at an on-campus reading series. The featured poet was my age and had published over four hundred poems. I had no idea how he had managed to do this—either his prolific output of poems or his massive publications. Most of my poems were short surrealist lyrics, much in vogue at the time. Except for a poem about my grandfather’s tiepin, a gift handed down to me by my father, I had not written anything concerning my identity as a Japanese American…
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KNOW IT HOW HERE!
Something hasn’t been right with me this week. I’ve felt a heavy sense of foreboding envelop me out of nowhere, and it has taken me ages to figure out why. After spending a lot of time alone thinking, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m anxious about a couple of things coming to an end – things that have helped me to manage my grief over the course of the last year.
A week from now I will have completed the London Marathon. When I originally signed up for the race, I did so for just one reason: to raise money for a child bereavement charity that I believe in. Once I began training, however, I noticed that I was getting so much more from it than that.
I realised I’d given myself a forward-looking focus that could help ease my mind’s preoccupation with the past. I noticed that by taking back control of…
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Her husband chewed thoughtfully as he pored over the evening paper.
She wanted to tell him that she was lonely. That she was overwhelmed. She wanted to tell him that she missed being in love.
His eyes met hers briefly across the table.
She said, “Can you pass the salt?”
For the Weekly Writing Challenge.