Rain. A lamppost. White canvas shoes, damp.
Genesis — a thin, useless hymn in my ears.
People pass like practiced ghosts.
She says she cannot love me.
I fold that sentence into my palm; it is cold.
The street exhales and erases itself.
I learn the end too late.
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The New Renaissance Mindset 
This is haunting in its restraint. Every image feels deliberate and weighted, letting silence do as much work as language. The way emotion is distilled into simple, tactile moments—the cold sentence in the palm, the street erasing itself—makes the ending land with quiet inevitability. It’s intimate, cinematic, and painfully honest.
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I am deeply grateful for your encouraging words. Thank you, Mr. Verma.
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Dear Mr. Verma,
I have chosen a few years ago to not overthink what I wish to say… well, overthink everything really! 😏
What I wish to say to you, is that the brevity of my responses to your beautiful and generous comments must not be seen as a lack of gratitude… please! I am a very shy person who lives most of my time in my books and in my head. I hope my mind is revealed through my creative work. If I have any outgoing persona, I show it to my students, colleagues, and a few close people.
I am humbled by the thoughtfulness or your words and very, very grateful to you. Bless you.
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