Anitha Krishnan writes Indian-inspired fantasy fiction with a dash of mysticism and soul-searching. She lives in Burlington, Ontario with her husband and their cherished child.
poetry
I walked with you from room to room watched your every step with all my heart sauntered up every lane and alley and street corner beside you, stitching memories together to rein me in, to keep me from falling apart when you’d be gone, for I knew you would
life, unadulterated
In an alternate version of reality, 2016 thus far would have panned out the way I had envisaged last November (or so I’d like to believe). More than twenty new Friday Tales for Demesne would have popped up on the blog so far this year. A first draft of
life, unadulterated
Less than four hours to go before 2015 disappears like it never existed and 2016 descends upon us like a new dawn. I didn’t mean to do an end-of-the-year post but there were two things that came to mind this evening and that I wanted to pen down for
life, unadulterated
I am really excited about my birthday this year! The day was spent in furnishing a new place we are moving to next weekend. And somehow this 'paving the way for the new' looks set to be the theme for my writing this year. There are 3 major
tales for dreamers
The Piano Man is no Pied Piper for he makes no demands, but he too seeks something no mortal can give him.
poetry
Clouds have a tendency to drift, To change colours and to shape-shift The sky bears mute testimony to their capricious dance The leaves are no less mischievous, How they cloak the world in canopies of green, Only to burn scarlet and gold, shrivel up and drift away, The trees now
poetry
I press my ears to the wet ground, and listen to the song of the brown earth, My heart pounds my chest, the exertion of having run far too long Now it slows down, falling into step with the dulcet sounds of the woods Hush, now, I hear the leafless
life, unadulterated
Were it not for man’s invention of dates and time, we may not have had new years or birthdays or new centuries. Or, on the contrary, every day would have been a new year, a new day, a new century, a new cause for celebration. However you choose to
life, unadulterated
:) I have little else to say except that I love the date November 20. It is so special to me. Too bad it comes only once a year! I will write more ... soon ...
poetry
Hasn't it been woefully quiet in these parts of late? Where have the stories disappeared and the poems vanished leaving behind an empty slate? But mischief is brewing quietly simmering just beneath the calm facade Until the time arrives, and we uncover the cauldron then the fireworks will
poetry
Oh, yes, there was a time, not so long ago, when I could recall every crease of your beautiful face with perfect precision its smooth contour defined by your shiny brown skin how it crinkled up into countless folds and lines and I could see the laughter dance in your
poetry
At the sight of you My heart leaps like a splash of raindrop on a roadside puddle Dances like frail flowers tenderly bobbing their pretty heads when the wind whispers sweet nothings in their ears In your presence, I am a maiden twirling around to an invisible melody My billowing