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Keisha-Ann

  • The Carver's Melody

    Scrape, scrape, scrape. The sound of a carver sharpening his knife weaving in with the tap, tap, tap, of his worn out, well traveled, shoes sitting flat on the squeaky ...

    • Poetry
    • Other
    1 min read
  • Oh the shame..

    Oh, the shame of what this world became of how the memories no longer remain Have we all forgotten the happiness that once came down in the rain? Oh the ...

    • Poetry
    • Other
    1 min read


You are in the wrong land even if the roosters recognize you.
— Nathalie Handal, "Noir, une lumière"