Loading Search

• Buy this Book
• Book Creators
• Related Blog Posts
• Share on Twitter
• Share on Facebook

As a young professional and an immigrant in a foreign land, the lure of the written word was all that was between me and my invariable losing of the self in the crowd. My poems are merely a linguistic representation of the ache beneath my skin, the comprehensible part of my otherwise invisible perception of the Universe. Poetry brews quietly, in the deep recesses of my heart, aged and matured like... More

As a young professional and an immigrant in a foreign land, the lure of the written word was all that was between me and my invariable losing of the self in the crowd. My poems are merely a linguistic representation of the ache beneath my skin, the comprehensible part of my otherwise invisible perception of the Universe. Poetry brews quietly, in the deep recesses of my heart, aged and matured like the finest Tennessee whisky in oak casks. What you read is merely what bubbles up to the surface and spills over onto paper, ink blots congealing into words. Words that sometimes struggle to do justice to what I feel. I refuse to be shackled into submission, the flowing, free form verse of poetry shall forever remain my domain, my shelter, my safe haven. And to this domain, I invite you in... And may I remind you not to judge, for where you see monochrome, I see rainbows and I trust my illusions more than I will ever the dull, drab garb of reality.

You must be a member of JacketFlap to add a video to this page. Please Log In or Register.