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yzisme

  • I want to submit this to a contest.

    I'm sorry, I have no idea where this belongs.Happyness end.Screams.Shouts.Sirens.Explosions.Fire. Fire. Fire.That’s the last thing I see.Hands pulling at me, poking me.Something picking me up, putti

    • Poetry
    • Other
    2 min read


These were autumn mornings, the time of year when kings of old went forth to conquest; and I, never stirring from my little corner in Calcutta, would let my mind wander over the whole world.
— Rabindranath Tagore, The Cabuliwallah