Few of my million daily thoughts, stories, and poems survive the battles in my head and make it to this blog.
Help me give them a louder voice.
(All poems are written by me, you can call me Zee)
I remember when I was maybe eleven
I had to wake up as early as seven, rush to the neighborhood baker
He made our street smell like heaven
The fresh bread gives me warmth on my morning walk
And a lady sitting in the street
selling something to eat
Breakfast routine that I love to remember
Memories of early December
Poet, making sense of war, humanity, love and greed. Trying to find the magic in ordinary things.
I am Zee