Valiant Scribe
A literary hub giving voice to the voiceless by retelling the human experience

Her curves are caving in now, her arches dipping down. Pillaged by both sun and sea, a queen’s corroding crown.

Matchless people in a frenzied crowd gone the way of the living dead. Heart’s lonely cry echoes in faraway conches.

I asked a lonely grape-vine, “Are you bearing sweet fruits even now, in war time?”