Baskadia

In Between

When light blossoms, Smiles cuddle on couches; Wait until clouds clad in grief, The poet whets his wits. What's in between? What's it called, When there's no dark and light, When authors are quiescent, When life's eats at ease Just in between?

Unrequited love

Beneath your radar, I stand, a flickering flame, burning my self up for you to see, but you, lost in the darkness, can't even see my light. I am the candle, wax melting into the night, unseen, unheard, unloved. I am the moth, flying towards your flame, only to be burned and ignored, as if I were never there at all.

MAGIC STONE

Story About Magic Stone 🤯🤯🤯