That longing which makes me write will be always there, because my longing is for the home I never had when I needed it most. I do believe that our memories shape us and maybe that’s what happened with me; that emptiness which I held since my childhood quietly became that void which sucked me in, till I realised I had to pull myself together. My sadness made me a poet.

I know that home I left behind will forever haunt me. Maybe that’s why I keep clinging to colours and dreams. Maybe that’s why I write poems and try to fill that void by being there.

sharing the stories submitted by our writers for the Friday Edition

Endless Shade of Blue by Iva Hotko

Political Announcement by Suntonu Bhadra

All that Jazz by James G Brennan

The poems and story in today’s edition of Literary Impulse remind me of colours freely scattered on the canvas. Those few colours which make the pages come alive.

I am reminded of the lush green leaves and those vibrant tulips in the Jardin du Luxembourg in Paris, the glimmer of the sliver of moon in the vast sky above Himalayas hidden behind those clouds which I could see drifting from the window in McleodGanj or those leaves on the path like a broken mosaic whenever I am out for a walk here in Singapore.

I can’t imagine my life without colours maybe that’s why fading colours in the sky speak to me more than the blooming sun because I know that’s the last time colours will dance before they walk back in their shell. When I write I trap the same colours quietly. That poem becomes that noise which I need to hear to feel good.

In today’s post, I see the same colours in those stories splattered freely by the writers like an artist waiting to be picked by the readers.

For Today’s edition, we have:

Daemon’s Monarch: Roses and Reunions, Story by Nicholas B Girard

Compass Our Awe, Poem by Jessica Lee McMillan

Dusk with Palette, Poem by Dionne Charlet

The month of August is a reminder that half the year is over, those old pages are packed and stacked on the shelf.A consciousness which makes us realise we still have a few more months to make this year our own.Those new pages waiting to be written, when the breeze becomes balmy and that wait for the longer nights.Those lazy evenings when we soothe our soul with that cup of chai and lose ourselves in words written by strangers and look at books greedily as if a part of us is stuck there.We walk in those pages to pick the leftover dreams and finish the stories knowing that the words will be still there.How do you remember August in your world, dear readers? How do you welcome the fall? Or hold that poet within from taking that walk?

While you dream about August memories, I am sharing with you the poems by writers of Literary Impulse for the Friday edition. The words here shared by the writers remind me of sadness, not all can write about this emotion an express more eloquently. Sometimes we need to read about this emotion too, a colour which is always there in our life hidden behind the veil of light. We write about the moon because darkness stirs our sky and somehow through our words, we learn to survive.

Sharing poems for this edition -

  • Denatured Protein by Eli Snow

  • A Dark Sight by Saurabh

  • The Merchants of Death by IMΛBӨПG FΛMIПЦ