http://slow.writerscafe.org/RishArora7 The original writings of author Red Rattler en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776021580 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 I often find myself sleepless in stormy nights,just still - breathing coldwith my eyes steering through the darknessand my soul; sold.Listening to the silence that follows,it plays like a song I once knewand while the music runsI get lost in the note.I often have a dream -colorful and serene,it draw.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/2159575/ What is this body? A cover for her soul...What is this pain she feels? Maybe the search for love!It drives her crazy... this passion she has in her body-which wins over her, every time.What desires are these? - Destroying both her heart and mind!What punishment is this? - Turning herself against her.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/2159574/ Standing on the other sidewatching the colors of the world turn Grey,I am fixed to this twisted imagein the darkness of the day.Lost - I close my eyes,and time stops and time re-winds.I close my eyes... I close my mind,there is no sun- where is my direction?I close my heart... I close my life,to ask.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1437236/ I saw you everyday...I heard you everyday...I never liked you.I'd never do.You are a monster,your head is not right.You have heart, yes-but your soul is not alive.I am no angel, but I will take no demon-stop going about me...I am not yours to keep,I am not yours to be.I saw you everyday...I heard yo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1428093/ I have always seen you...In the rays of the early sunshine.In the light of every summer sun.In the morning before my eyes openIn the night after I close them.I have always heard you...In the hall way to the Shrine.In the stairs going up.In the lift going down.In Silence. In Noise.I remember every co.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1423883/ Have you ever climbed a mountain?or swim across the seven seas?Did you jump through a ring of fire?or take an eternal leap?He did!Born 1871... Bregenz, GermanyHans, was a mild son-his mother sewed on torn cover,his father watched the graveyard stone.He loved apples, the way Newton did-he loved .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1399457/ A string played a particular tune,"Gortoz a ran... Gortoz a parade"And soon the bagpipes followed...and there was a painful silencebroken, by the prayer of the saints at St. Bergenslow-and the drums played a constant beat,muffled, saddened.Men wore black- women covered themselves with tears-yet none.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1376719/ I see her face in this rain...just as I saw her for the first time.She stood there watching the rain,I stood there watching her.She wore a light pink dress...simple, she smiled,and her smile gave me a thought-of how beautiful is this Life.I smell her scent in this rain....just as I did, when she cro.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1371335/ Time is only the median...to a passage, a pathto move about...where love is what we want to find,we loose ourselvesin the fray.We go down the longest road to nowhere...holding down our hopethat once filled us up...searching for the other side we grew up inwe loose our wayin the fray.All is quite in .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1367424/ We live in a big world.A huge sphere that once was the start of the universe.Today, our world is just as large as it was yesterday -but nothing is new. I have seen everything.We walk with Giants.From the stories that we grew up with -to Firms that have more moneyshared unequally amongst men.We have .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1355354/ As drummers beat the morning start,as horses gallop to near from far,and black charcoal does burn away,to start the battle of today. As trumpets play a tune forlon,the kings command to carry on,to stop never, to fight till the end,untill we return or our bodies sent. Oh the sight of mighty.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1351705/ People say im crazy,some say im mad,but all that i wanna be,is to be your baby and sleep on your lap. My friends call me an idiot,and yours call me a jerk,but no matter what they say,u ll be my light that from the darkness lurks. Your father calls me s**t,your mother, doesnt even  kno.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1351703/ How among the many,do there bare contradicts as such,where some adhere to the meaning of life,and others to what never appears? How among the nobles,do there stay those with unclear minds,when the freedom of thought are shared within,spiritful souls and steady hearts? Like all that shun to.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1351698/ Among the midst of clear red willows,hidden between this world and the next,are stains made from thorns that prick us,whilst our blood be fresh. Torn between what lies here and there,yonder the woods, of valleys beyond,where none has ever returned,enchanted by spiritless bonds. Are se.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1351696/ " War never decides who is right...but who is left behind." - Bertrand Russel There was always something about those mensomething that will force another to think,think of actions and words that may come out of themor endless meadows of rot and stench. I was only 19, yes... an age to be pr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1351693/ No one knows from where he'd hither,not one would know his hailbut as much as people love to curse each other,he hides himself behind the veil. His way, his walkeven his shallow grimtakes up what no other canand conjour's up a win. No one knows of his betteryet no one knows his sins,and st.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1350742/ Have you ever felt this way before?the way, you know (blushing),that makes a man smile,and turns dull cheek Amor. The sudden change in the color of the sky,the bending breeze,maybe even the scent of wet mud,arouses me from my feet. The aroma, the taste,all so dainted with spirit,and those .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1349196/ Lo, forth I am from my father's bloodand born to deem his nameand bestowed both bone and fleshand a home to claim. Lo, forth I am my mother's childto her do I reachwith bare hands raised aboveher character do I preach. Lo, forth I am a humandestined with mind and soulto endeth tyrany and p.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1349193/ An Open Eye, mean and bluewas embeded within a scroll half burntwith spots and stains of a sort of blood,maybe that of this seasons' hunt.A partial torn picture, holds no cluenor does that of marks cut deep,but why was this picture cut in such bitter fashion?what story does this picture keep? B.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1349190/ I have forever held trust and faith,in a story, folklore,about an old manhigh on his throne,watching his rise... disowning his fall,and with every new sun, withevery new moon, he sets his challace downwaiting for an heir... waiting for one of his own crown.His hands bound by the bloodof his fallen s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1349189/ Look outside your window-look into that dark misty night,look at the trees that sway in your wayand hear the wind sigh.Listen to the sounds of the unseen-listen to them askingthe same question- every night! Who are we tonight?What is our game?When will we learn-that tomorrow is never the same.W.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1349188/ I guess I never knew what you meant to me,fail to see, that you wanted to be free,But I bound you up- burdening you,forgetting that you are a part of me.Now, you're gone-and I'm left alone;lost within my own-punished,a hermit- unwanted- unusable-unlovable. I'm sorry I closed my heart, my eyes-I.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1349187/ You just broke the iceand brought me out of silence...and that little earth i had under my feetturned into fire.Whispered...Said my name-you called me out,and that little warmth I had in metunred into ice.This mystified voice...has mowed me,and that little desire I had in megrew out of control.Whisp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1349186/ Red has long been a color of passion and death. Red is also a sense of fear. Red is not just the color of blood. It is blood itself. Burning emotions. Painting Pain. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RishArora7/1349184/