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Paroma Sen
Paroma Sen

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Published in

Scrittura

·5 days ago

Goodbye, James Brennan

A break from prompt week to celebrate James — Goodbye, my friend. A few days back, some of us that are connected on social media learned that our dear friend and co-writer on several publications, James Brennan, passed away. I will take a break from the prompt series this week, to both create a space where we can speak…

Scrittura

4 min read

Goodbye, James Brennan
Goodbye, James Brennan
Scrittura

4 min read


Published in

Scrittura

·Sep 8

Fury of the Genie

2nd Friday Prompt: retell a known tale — Thousands of years, marinating in anger. Thousands of years of purifying the red-hot tip of anger’s spear, through the white-hot oxy-acetylene torch of concentrated time. Thousands of years of that heat encapsulated in the cold nitrogen ice of anger hardened by the passage of eternity. The first thousand years there…

Prompt

6 min read

Fury of the Genie
Fury of the Genie
Prompt

6 min read


Published in

Scrittura

·Aug 25

The In-between Places

4th Friday Prompt: something in between — Tucked away, out of sight. Somewhere in the folds of the in-between places, I lie. Not quite dead, not quite alive. Not quite asleep, not quite awake. Creature of the twilight, I open my eyes at dawn, and once more at dusk. In those in-between endless hours, I lie waiting…

Prose Poem

3 min read

The In-between Places
The In-between Places
Prose Poem

3 min read


Published in

Scrittura

·Jul 28

We Must Not Be Seen

4th Friday Prompt: recall a dream — I am certain I will be seen. And if I am seen, it will all be over. I hear the rushing in of the moonlit ocean, and wonder if the tide will soften the sand underneath the house we are in. And I pause at the “we” my mind has…

Prompt

4 min read

We Must Not Be Seen
We Must Not Be Seen
Prompt

4 min read


Published in

Scrittura

·Jul 14

Pacing in Las Vegas

2nd Friday Prompt: what does this city mean to you? — Forty-three missed calls. My breath catching my throat, I rushed to the elevators, dialing with one hand. Minutes later, the noise of the hotel had receded. Replaced with the loud pounding of my heart, the only sound I could hear now. I walked to the window, the absurdity of Vegas…

Prompt

4 min read

Pacing in Las Vegas
Pacing in Las Vegas
Prompt

4 min read


Published in

Scrittura

·Jun 23

Lightning: A Prose Poem

4th Friday Prompt: borrow from this quote — Lightning never travels in a straight line. Until that day, the day we met for the first time. I was subliminally aware of a kind of danger, some sort of underlying pulse that was unknown, and potentially combustible. So, I ran away. For days after, I could feel the texture…

Prompt

4 min read

Lightning: A Prose Poem
Lightning: A Prose Poem
Prompt

4 min read


Published in

Scrittura

·Jun 9

The Gap: A Prose Poem

2nd Friday Prompt: Dissociation — Shock leads to the gap, a blanket of clouds thrown on you to protect you, making you temporarily forget. Forgetting the words that were said and the sharpness of jugular veins, bursting with the cacophony of shrieking birds. The gap is a strange place, a limbo of sorts…

Prompt

3 min read

The Gap: A Prose Poem
The Gap: A Prose Poem
Prompt

3 min read


Published in

Scrittura

·May 26

Black Seed: A Prose Poem

4th Friday Prompt: Let the Image Lead You — Who am I? Where do I begin, and where do I end? There, where my imagination laces the bottoms of the silver clouds, underlining the approach of the witching hour Or there, hidden in the sand, where I lost a turquoise earring watching you walk away, its mate now sitting…

Prompt

4 min read

Black Seed: A Prose Poem
Black Seed: A Prose Poem
Prompt

4 min read


Published in

The Howling Owl

·May 17

Orange to Indigo

A Prose Poem — By then, the sun was dipping its manicured feet into the orange oceanic vat. By then, the ocean had permeated me in every possible way. My nostrils were full of its spirit, my pores more salt and sand than skin and flesh. …

Poetry

2 min read

Orange to Indigo
Orange to Indigo
Poetry

2 min read


Published in

The Howling Owl

·Apr 19

Shrapnel

Free Verse — One drop of dignity Is worth its weight in gold Grace leaves the wings of my fingers, ribboning outwards, surreal in its delicacy But there they are again, vile knives slicing through, shreds of grace’s ribbons lying in a bloody heap On the floor where dignity sat atop its assured…

Free Verse

1 min read

Shrapnel
Shrapnel
Free Verse

1 min read

Paroma Sen

Paroma Sen

1.2K Followers

“Do not go gentle into that good night, but rage, rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

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