PLASTIC DOLLS 🎎

 

pinterest.com

We are living in a fake world

Like two plastic dolls

Doing things like Robots

Without any emotions at all

Like two plastic dolls

👫

CREAK

THEY SAY ITS’ CHRISTMAS 🎄 By GAUTAM K MIRCHANDANI ☀️

 

tenor.com

They say it’s Christmas

But I am shivering to death

They say it’s Christmas

Jesus can no longer wait

⛓️‍💥

THE DESOLATE STRETCHES OF THE MIND

THERE’S NO ONE LIKE YOU 😍 By GAUTAM K MIRCHANDANI 👑

 

GAUTWORLD

I feel a thrill

Smiling now, baby

I lose the blues

There’s no one like you

💓

THE DESOLATE STRETCHES OF THE MIND

ONE STEP FORWARD 🃏 By GAUTAM K MIRCHANDANI ♠️

GAUTWORLD

Satish Sharma was a polisher of metals; he was originally from Calcutta, the beautiful city of many dreams. Two years back, he had shifted to Surat in search of a better livelihood. The first year had been good; work came his way regularly. Then came the recession, drying up everything: work, funds, opportunities, and even relations. He searched day and night, but found nothing; there was no work, and everywhere they asked him to wait, to wait until the recession was over. However, his life will not wait for the recession to be over, nor his body. Soon his savings were over, but the recession was everywhere, and he could not go back to a more expensive city like Calcutta and then came the last blow from his flat owner. Pay more or vacate the house.

👦

Satish Sharma will take that one step forward, but the question is, where would he take that step?

To know about Satish Sharma's story, click on the book link of 

 'AMPUTATED MINDS'- A STORY TO TELL' 

https://notionpress.com/in/read/amputated-minds

SINS OF MINE 💢

 

gifer.com

Sins of mine

Are they there to haunt me

And destroy my inner self

I try to stop

But to the devil

I am in debt.

🃏

CREAK

RONNIE 👤

 

giphy.com

Ronnie rides his bike

He is riding on the free highway

Summer sun shines

On his golden hair

His blue eyes

Looking out for a signboard

Saying, ‘Welcome Home.’

☠️

CREAK

JEENU ❄️ AUTHOR GAUTAM K MIRCHANDANI 👑

 

giphy.com

My name is Alfred Harold Hill. I am a cartographer for the British Army, Highland Rangers, and XXV Company. And I am dying. I am writing this journal to preserve my identity and to let others know what happened and what we went through. I have no idea how long I can write, as only a few candles are left and the inkwell is half empty.

It is November 12th of 1891, the year of our lord. Outside the log cabin, a snowstorm has roared for the past three days. There are four to five feet of snow all around, the passes and routes erased beneath the relentless snowfall. I have tried to escape the log cabin only three times, only to turn back, defeated by the snow.

I am 24 years old, my rank is first Lieutenant and it seems like yesterday when we journeyed from the army camp at Dehradun, three months to this day, a Platoon of thirty-five men and with me, and I am the last one remaining, the others dead, or as the Bitak would say, ‘Lo sall Jo kumi haar Jeenu.’ disappeared into the arms of the Jeenu.

💨

Alfred Harold Hill's story is a mystery that will remain unsolved. To know more about 'JEENU', click on the link below the book cover of 'SHOOTING MR SUMMER & 7 STORIES'.

SHOOTING MR SUMMER & 7 STORIES