Personal Blog
MY 2 CENTS
Personal thoughts, stories, articles, reviews, and more by Nathan Pratyksh Khanna. Sign up for the exclusive newsletter to get the latest stories in your inbox!
They Call Me Fritz!
In Inwood’s shade I softly tread,A crown of dreams upon my head.A tiny frame, a noble grace,A sleepy smile upon my face. They say I’m
The Low-Riding Bark Brigade
At the edge of the marsh where the river wind sings,Two little Corgis do marvelous things.Cody, the brown one, bold with his disc,Chases the air
The Mailbox That Forgot My Name
There was a time I wore the crown,In mirrored halls of polished brown.Where doors would part with silent grace,And all I met knew well my
Where the Morning Knows My Name
Some mornings bloom in softened light,With petals spun in pink and white,And park paths hum a quiet tune,Beneath the gaze of waking moon. The breeze
Visions from the Realm of History
The forest doesn’t speak in words,It hums through leaves and wings of birds.A rhythm old, a breathing grace,Time folded in this sacred place. Each morning
Mystic Trails and Morning Tales: Echoes of a Poet’s Walk
Go-slo, morn-flow, dawn’s sweet chime,I rise, rinse the night from my skin, step in time.Sun-glow, path-go, the day’s bright start,I skip to Inwood with a
This Too Shall Pass: Through Streets of Glass and Hope
I woke to a world that had lost its stars,Neon suns hummed where lanterns once sparked.The wind, a cruel whisper from centuries past,Like the frost
The Solitary Song of the Woods
At dawn, I part with my little one’s smile,A fleeting warmth that lingers awhile.Through city streets, I tread alone,To where the river sings in undertone.
The Man in the Neon Cage
He walks the streets, his head held low,A shadow where the neon glows.The watchers wait, the lines are drawn,One wrong step, and he is gone.
The Colt, Colt, and Boulevard of Ire
Beneath the blood-red evening sky,In 1809, where shadows lie,A lone rider forged of grit and flame,A specter known but without a name. His Colt speaks
Jiddle & Tim goes Tobogganing
Somewhere in the French Alps… A little stream that flowed through the pine woods in summer was now hidden under a thick blanket of soft
The Phantasm, Deposition, and The Curator: Chapter 2
Part 2 of 3 short stories that are sure to take you on a journey like no other! This chapter is free-to-read, so don’t miss out!
The Phantasm, Deposition, and The Curator: Chapter 1
Part 1 of 3 short stories that are sure to take you on a journey like no other! This chapter is free-to-read, so don’t miss out!