Author Archives: Navni Gujral

A taste in the mouth

O unknowable land of familiar stories, your secrets concealed behind invisible masks for us to uncover. A teasing now and again, sparkles and glimpses that hide before they show. A taste in the mouth just enough to know there’s nowhere … Continue reading

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A sweet red kiss

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Notes of a silent flute

On the darkest night notes of a silent flute play fire-dance in my heart. The player sends his invisible breath to hold me hush within its palm. Following footsteps of its tunes I grow invisible too. One time I’m a … Continue reading

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Last give and take

One day a sick pauper undid the knots that tied his tattered coat together. Down fell the murk free came the stench from fresh red wounds that secretly loved their colour. He collected his dirt in a bowl and took … Continue reading

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Midnight stories

Late last night my brother reached out to me to chat. Unsure of his way forward professionally, he mumbled that the endless advice from those concerned was only confusing him. “Why are you listening to them then?”, I asked comfortably … Continue reading

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Defected substance

One end of my paintbrush is dipped in permanent golden. The other changing colour at every touch, electric. One end burns in blinding light. The other scribbling furiously black stories multi-coloured. From multicolour oozes multicolour building strong-looking prison gates one … Continue reading

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Drunken dancing

In a home built for all each brick insists his red’s the best. A test laughs uncontrollably teasing time in it’s face: How many games will we play how many robes will I change before you toys trade their nervous … Continue reading

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Storing and hoarding

Some words glued to pages lying still in self-arrest pleaded silently to me: We must be brought to life at once to caress the clever storm growing stronger in it’s weakness! “What stops you then?”, I asked, as I shoved them … Continue reading

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A new mix

The food I ate on shining plates made me sick and ever-hungry. Tired, I turned the pages in my heart searching a new mix. There came one with no colour and no word flapping freely behind all others. It whispered … Continue reading

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Bleeding blue

A painting weeps for it lost it’s painter as it turned on itself in self-admiration. Now it grinds together it’s leaves and sounds and people and planes, hoping to find in their clay the golden glue that held it straight. … Continue reading

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