book review, FICTION, iNSTAGRAM

KASHiVOLOGY @ iNSTAGRAM

Kashivology is active on INSTAGRAM. Content available: Book reviews Book recommendations Write-ups To connect CLICK HERE or Click on the image below:

dream, FICTION, poetry

THE DREAM

And the little girl who wasn’t more than six years old, decapitated the man and his daughter. She was just following a short story that had gone wrong. Her family was welcomed by a woman and her son. The son was no more than eight years old. The war had spoiled everything- from relations to… Continue reading THE DREAM

FICTION, philosophy, poetry

THE EXiLE

And she kept her disguise aside and came out when the sun went out. She isn’t alone; she dances along with a horde of equally beautiful women around her sharing a common disguise. They have the beauty of a cool breeze in hot weather; you never get enough of them. They stay disguised as plants… Continue reading THE EXiLE

FICTION, identity, poetry

THE SOMNAMBULiST iCE-CREAM SELLER WALKS BESiDES A STEAM ENGiNE POWERED TRAiN

And as he walks he puts a hand on his cap covered head, out of sheer habit, lest the smoke from the steam engine throw the cap off from its ground. The cap is striped like that of a school boy’s. It is indeed out of sheer habit that the ice-cream seller puts his hand… Continue reading THE SOMNAMBULiST iCE-CREAM SELLER WALKS BESiDES A STEAM ENGiNE POWERED TRAiN

diary, life, soul

ON THE OTHER SiDE OF SMOKE

And master Mehmut, the well-digger, in Orhan Pamuk’s The Red Haired Woman, was inside the well because of an accident that made him stay there inside for a few hours until someone rescued him; Mr. Okada in Haruki Murakami’s The Wind-up Bird Chronicle went inside the dry well to think, to think in peace and… Continue reading ON THE OTHER SiDE OF SMOKE

life, poetry, soul

THE CONVERSATiONS

And as we sat there looking at each other but never quite seeing, I asked what had been in my mind for centuries. I have always believed, and I have believed what I read, that questions are always more important than answers; so in this tête-a-tête I had an upper hand, I was stronger. It… Continue reading THE CONVERSATiONS

death, love, POEM, poetry

THE CONFESSiONS iNSiDE THE BOX

  And the page lay on the grave, the dead seemed to read and absorb each word written on it. Nothing could destroy the ink, not even the overnight rain. There are things that remain, and have always been, always present even after catastrophes and nature’s furies, just like the letters on that page. The… Continue reading THE CONFESSiONS iNSiDE THE BOX