It’s eight am in the morning. I’m standing outside my orange-coloured doorway, trying to open it, but alas! Where is the key!??? I desperately insert both hands in the front pockets at the same time. Goooosh!!!…I can’t find my keys!?…
Tag: Short Story
Residing at Grandma’s
The old clay-coated pot was softly snoring as it rested comfortably on the three black rocks. Deep down near my feet, slept master Chung Lee, the blue-eyed cat. With her rough purr in and out of her wind pipe, she harmonised the corners of our circuitous Kisukuu, hut
Little Strings of Poetry 