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: