Sometimes words act as expert magicians. When they
hold an ordinary picture in front of your eyes and make you see a wholly
different image. This is eccentric, but you fail to accuse the words of
lying. They are all the same as you knew them before. So, where is the
difference? What does it emanate from? Perhaps the writer’s will has
changed!
In literature a symbol is applied only to a word or
phrase that signifies an object or event which in its turn signifies
some thing or has a range of reference, beyond it. Some symbols are
“conventional” or “public”. Poets use conventional symbols; however also
use “private” or “personal... full text...
Along by the darkness Crickets
yelled “Moon, hey great moon…” Along by the darkness Sprouts
with their such long arms The arms that let out their sigh so much as
... full text...
Animal Farm written as a "Fairy Story" by an
English writer, George Orwell, is the narration of violent
political revolution of farm animals against the farmer who owns all.
The characters in this story, in disguise of animals, were inspired by
Russian revolution and each symbolizes an... full text...
I drew with the tip of my lead pencil on the cement— A line to separate myself from the world. I drew a line to separate myself from the breeze and freeze that raped trees of their leaves.
I drew with the tip of my lead pencil on the cement— A line to separate myself from the world. I drew a line to separate myself from the breeze and freeze that raped trees of their leaves.
I drew a line to separate myself from hands that hold necks, Strong enough as if desiring their fingers to bleed, Seeping into the skin lying below the chin— Making them one, Blending the line that discerns the nail from the bone.
I drew a line— A barricade that protected our smiles, An ocean that stretched far enough to lose us in the horizon, A jungle as a labyrinth twisting their path toward us.
I drew a line, and reached out for your hand to bring you across. You reached out your hand to bring him across.
I drew a line, And regardless of how my knees bled Grinding into the cement Keeping me strong,
And regardless of how my knuckles throbbed holding the lead tight, Regardless of every solid power in my breath that pushed that line Embedding it into the elements that composed the cement Pushing against our feet.…
I forgot that the clouds above are far too high for our embrace To calm their tears,
And as they shared their sorrow with our own, They washed away the doorway to our home.
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