Rupi Kaur Poems

A cold chill spread through his body. He was called the most powerful, lethal weapon. A mere girl had the power to distract him. He should have been careful as she was going to live here. He couldn't ignore what was his, " You'll be mine, soon. It's your right the day you are born. ' he whispered and left her alone, thinking over it. ' She's raised as a human. She's human. She won't fall for a beast. '

Luca Guerrero was a successful businessman, but he was born in a mafia family. He was the second born of the family and didn't bother about the throne. Tragedy happened, his whole family slaughtered by the opposite mafia leader, leaving the responsibility of his elder brother's daughter ( Sienna) on him. Tragedy pushed him at the throne. He becomes the next mafia boss. He wanted a decent girl to be his daughter' mother, who could love and care for her as her own daughter. When he found out all qualities what he was looking for in Thea shallow. He blackmailed her to marry him. To know more, continue reading.. .

Tunnels deconstructs the individual’s Romantic fascination with ‘love’ or the grammaticality of beauty. Ideally, the ‘tunnels’ in the collection are subterranean love poems from the suburban imaginary. These seemingly syntactic tunnels travel through one’s literary imagination or heterotopic dreamscapes, and while αγάπη (Greek for ‘love’) inspires these rhizomic tunnels to navigate the abysmal ‘meta-spectacle’ of gesture, language or moment of poemness, the mind like the many-colored jeepneys of Manila, where driving past roast goose restaurants in Shek Kip Mei or spotting stilt houses in Kampong Kleang, attempt to explore the transgeneric textualities of the everyday, alongside the unstructurality of time and space, the littoral and the liminal.

While cleaning Desmond Maynard's house, I accidentally knocked over his mother's keepsake. He once told me it was his most precious possession. But when I picked it up, hundreds of love letters spilled out. There were beautiful poems, passionate lyrics, and heartfelt confessions. He had written one letter a week without stopping. On the back of each one wrote a line: To My Love, Bunny. The nickname rang a bell. It was his junior in college. Things started to make sense. I slaved away for 13 years, running his household and caring for his family, but Desmond never even said he liked me. That was because he already had someone he liked. I sorted the letters by date, put them back, and grabbed my phone to make a call. "Mom, I'm in for the marriage proposal."