Currency / a pocket can sometimes be : a kind of prison, / I have never lived in / a cash economy where the bill / fold unfolds to find
PRIVATE is looking for new writers. You can send us your texts (poems or short stories). Please find here the instructions and the guidelines.
These texts tell us what the eyes cannot see, what photos cannot show, what words cannot describe. What is impossible to catch up, telling us before thinking is their target.
Where were god? Where was god while your inner world was falling apart? Where was god while the events of life drained your energy and…
When you were five / And I was six, / We would hold hands / Just like this…
They have no second thoughts / and still your footprints / inch by inch, gradually / made whole the way this shovel / lost its taste for dirt / carries
Desert… / If you’re looking for yourself / The shadows of your ancestors / Will lead you up to the light / Desert… / Draw a big wheel of stones
You look… You look at beauty but you want to ruin it You hate poverty, but you choose to steal You are alone in the jungle of your madness… You
[morning melody] You might have stayed up All night, clicking at every link To your daydream, searching For a soulmate in the cyberspace You might have enjoyed an early dose
Five poems by Simon Perchik * A click and its likeness can’t change, curled the way rain yellows though you hold on almost make out the grin that could be
School Days, by Himanshu Attri Glimpses of our past the day we entered school it seemed not so cool we were given some melodies and a pocket full of toffies
A Last Run A last run to have a fun to lift a head in worthy sky All my friends its time to fly Pack your bags and lusty gears
The collection of photos you can see here covers a broad spectrum of tastes, concerns and outlooks, which may at first sight seem irrelevant. Yet, sorting and carefully comparing the
A Rainbow: Your Troubles Melt Like Lemon Drops You sit before me. Time has been lost With no gain. Hours can pass When you sit by the lake. A leader
It’s common to hear photojournalists described as the eyes of the world, acting as witnesses to events that we would otherwise not see. To some extent this is true, but
Good news, it infuses this issue with a sense of joy, and with an aspect of carefree childhood seized in flight. There is a feeling of solemnity, but a tender