// materials presented below are all writers' take on the subjects//
Costa
Describe your image
Describe your image
Describe your image
Describe your image
The Brown Cow in the Gown
Describe your image
Describe your image
Describe your image
Describe your image
The Coffee Shop
In a small Italian coffee shop there was a young woman with dark-chocolate hair and mocha-almond skin. She was patiently waiting with a small to-go cappuccino in her right arm, while she sat a tall, wooden table. The door of the shop soon caved in, and a boy about the same age smiled and waved towards her. He then headed towards the tall table. “Hey, Via, how you doin’?” The corners of her lips moved up marginally.
“Not bad, how bout’ you?”
The boy then responded. “I’m good.” He then looked out a pair of glass windows and glanced at a bustling park. “You remember the first time we met. It was over in that park.” He started to point towards the area.
“Uh, yea. But there’s something I need to tell you, Eric.” Eric then continued speaking.
“Remember when we climbed that tall tree over there?”
The girl took a large sip of her warm drink. “Yea, but there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Yea, anything, sure. Oh, wait. You remember when we walked across that pond in December.”
“Look, Eric, you’re not making this easy.” Eric then took a large gulp of his vanilla latté, and then he motioned the girl to continue speaking, while flailing his hands around.
The woman then quietly muttered something. Eric then put his drink in and leaned towards her. “Could you repeat that?”
“I’m, I’m breaking up with you.”
“Wh-what?” The girl started looking around the place, as if she was avoiding eye contact.
“I’m sorry, I really am, but our relationship isn’t going anywhere.” Eric started sniffling as his heart started pounding rapidly.
“What do you mean?”
“Please, this isn’t easy for me.” Eric then put his drink in his left arm and shot out of his seat, making a commotion.
He spoke away from the girl. “I can’t deal with this.” Eric then marched his feet against the ground of the shop and slammed open the glass doors. He then furiously threw open the black door of his Honda, which had been parked right beside the shop, and he thrusted his body into the driver’s seat. Eric then jabbed the key into the car and revved up the engine. He then pushed his weight against his pedal.
After a few minutes of driving along with his eyes steady on the road, Eric’s right pocket vibrated and lit up. Eric then grabbed his new phone and looked at the screen-immediately his car smashed into a blue Toyota at the intersection, denting the car, and knocking the life out of both drivers.
© Daniel Boyko 2018 All Rights Reserved
Washington Square Park
I.
to watch you, i think
is to know you;
to manipulate your intentions in my head,
to imagine that you are a murderer or a millionaire;
to migrate far from the misery of sensibility.
we fall into a rhythm,
your percussion thumbs
tap tap tapping
with impeccable staccato,
my pen scraping a quiet melody –
do you see me seeing you?
you take my breath away with your eruption,
a tempest of anguished shrieks and desperate hegira
gone unnoticed amidst the never ending
crossing
and intersecting
and converging
of this curious place.
and as you return to your scorched spot,
you turn to me with an unapologetic smile and shrug “bug”,
as though I could ever understand
how even for a second,
you could throw self-consciousness to the wind.
II.
I take a hit of your air and let it
Pull deep into my lungs,
Pied-Pipering my paranoia out from its hiding place within.
Anticipating the extraordinary, I swallow my devastation
When met only by the mundane:
Sweet Angelicas and Primroses
In place of the Bleeding Hearts and Bloodroots I lust after.
In my head, I dictate love notes to the broken:
To the forgotten below me and the ignored beside me.
You are my oasis and I am helplessly hooked:
To who I am in this place where no one knows and no one cares,
Hanging on to the looming promise of escape
From the monotony of the only life I know.
Gentlemen
We never had ample conversations
Because, my father is a gentleman
He always beat my mother
Faught with my mother
Throwing chairs
Throwing utensils
We never had ample conversations
Because, I never prefer to speak
Never want to
Because I'm tired
I was tired
For two decades
But in the last week
We had a enough conversations
And my father is a gentleman
Who said that "he's unsuccessful"
Because I'm not an engineer
I'm not working in reputed organisation
I'm not earning (a nice figure)
Because of the conversations in the
Last week
I'm leaving tomorrow
Which is five days earlier than planned
Because my father is a gentleman
Let him stay home
He's so over caring
And over protective that
He wants me to stay at home
My father is a gentleman
And, I'm leaving tomorrow
Maybe, I'm less gentle
To understand his conversations
And pity myself everyday
For not earning much
And of course feel guilty to born in this house
5 November
â„–########
Nothing but myself in nowhere
I never saw myself in the mirror
I saw myself in the corner
I had no friends
And my parents always had quarrels
To create some identity
Wasn't my aim
But, to write my everyday life
I've tried and had given my best
My progress
My dreams
My desires
(Sometimes gentle
Raw always)
And my teenage passed away
With few stories and novels
And learning English
Reading "Deccan Chronicle" for time pass
Going back to Rajahmundry from Hyderabad
The life was pleasent
Lot of cycling with friends and interactions
With relatives
Back to Jamnagar
Lot of cycling and Pokemon
Of course few feelings
Begun there
Called love - like - feel - passion
But, nowhere I was deep into society!!!
Even today, speaking or interacting with twenty members is not society.
I mean everything is contracted
We aren't into society
No one is actually
Everyone has private lives
With them for them
Even I'm not bothered
Not because I've my personal life
But because society is something which is prone to two particular things happening simultaneously
"To be stagnant and to change".
And in both the cases my involvement would not make any difference
Further, a middle class person as me would only have time to suffice his/her livelihood.
// materials presented above are all writers' take on the subjects//