Survival | Priya Pramod

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

The Sun stood silent,

As eternal witness.

Seeing all the chaos;

among the People!

They were fighting an enemy.

Unknown and invisible; it evoked fear.

Those caught off guard; fell dead.

The Nature wept!

They ran to their shelters;

locked themselves up

and distanced; to protect.

Hugs became a dream.

Sufferings and uncertainty,

They were racing against time!

When masks covered a part of the face;

Only their eyes could smile .

Heroes emerged.

Hands of hope held the ones falling.

Life desperately clung!

After every gloomy winter,

there is a Spring.

Slowly the story was unfolding.

Of courage and grit,

Of a species, that fought for its survival

and they won!

The Sun kept blazing,

As eternal witness.

Rehnuma | Kanchi Arora

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

ओ रहनुमा

कम क़हर ढा,

यूँ मुँह ना मोड़ मेरे खुदा!

तेरे बन्दे

ग़लत,

ग़लतियों के पहाड़ पैरों तले रोंदते

आगे बड़े,

बेपरवाह, बेग़ैरत हो

मौजों के बादलों में शरम उड़ाते चले..

ग़र हैं तो तेरे ही वो बच्चे?

जो धूलों को उड़ाते

ठोकरें खाके,

खाकों में ऐसे मिल रहे

जैसे मुशक़्क़त से हासिल पेयशानि पर वो बूँदें,

जो गिरते ही ख़ाक में थककर बेनिशां

सो गयीं

ना अब एब ना वो नशा।

चीखें सुन!

वह अधमरा इंसाँ देख!

उस लाश पे सोयी वो बदहवास मासूम

यूँ आँखें ना पलट!

यूँ चले ना जा!

यूँ दलीलें ना मोड़!

यूँ अर्ज़ियाँ ना ठुकरा!

ऐ रहनुमा

कुछ होश में आ

अपनी नवाज़िशों से परे ना कर

यूँ सिफ़र ना बना!

Soulmate | Maryam Mustaffa

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

“Destiny has played sound through eclipse, twilight, & love to let meet sun to moon, drawn to dusk and you to me.”

"Your name is itself our destined narration"

What is it, love?

But when, where & how.

I remember your first smile,

Your eyes have Nile.

Your presence me surroundings vibrant,

You are home longed by migrant.

First walk towards me,

Shattered! My soul said it's he.

I don't know how long I was gazing,

But... Heart, eyes, hands were mazing.

While talking seeing straight through my eyes to soul,

Ah! I noticed your smile while looking at my mole.

From your eyes I couldn't take off mine,

We hold our souls not to cross the line.

"They say is it love?

I (smiled): ask rain, sky, moon, sunsets, twilights, midst of night skies & what not....

Doesn't he mention my name?

Doesn't he long for me to be beside him?"

बाळाचे मनोगत | Kavita Sangras Kanherikar

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

आई म्हणू तुला कि मम्मा ?

सांगशील का हळुच कानात ?

पोटातील माझ्या हालचाली ,

सहन करतेस तु सार काही .

थकतेस का ग भार माझा वाहण्यात.

सांगशील का हळुच कानात?

किती घाबरतेस धक्का मला लागला म्हणून .

मोहरुन जातेस चाहूल माझी ऐकून.

तु प्रत्यक्ष कशी आहेस, दिसतेस मला स्वप्नात

सांगशील का हळुच कानात.

प्रॉमीस हं मी त्रास नाही देणार.

बोट तुझे नाही सोडणार.

नाते विणशील नं हळुवार धाग्यात.

सांगशील का हळुच कानात.

पोटातील पाण्यात दिसते मला ,

तुझ्या ऋधयाची छाया .

कशी श्वास घेतेस ग गुंतुनी माझ्या श्वासात ?

सांगशील का हळुच कानात ?

किती ग अजून वाट पाहू?

केव्हां तुझ्या हातावर जोजवून घेऊ !

घेशील का लवकर पदरात

सांगशील का हळुच कानात?

The Birth of A People | Pranav Bhagat

THE FOLLOWING WORK WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

It was only after their rivers began to run black with pyre-ash, and their graveyards grew to cities sprawling wide, that they, seeking an end to their misery, turned their fury upon those long dead – their forefathers.

In the memory of their forefathers, they had waged eternal war amongst themselves. For their glory and their honour, age after age had butchered its children; and weeping, mourning its loss, had sworn vengeance, and stabbed itself in the heart – again, and again, and again. Till in the blood-frenzy all-consuming, all that was innocent got corrupted and all that was delicate withered away, leaving them feral and ruthless capable of feeling only hatred.

They hated; violently breeding to further their creed, they hated even as they made love; they hated; they could not love.

But then there came a time when throats were being slit faster than the bodies could be buried, or burnt and their ashes scattered; and so the pile of the naked dead kept mounting higher, higher still.

It was only then, when the smell of the corpses grew so pungent, that not even the most steadfast in their hatred could deny, all rotting corpses smelt alike-- no matter the faction, no matter the creed-- that they wondered: had they been lied to? If in death all their distinctions faded away, then…

Then their differences might not be as insurmountable as they had thought.

Was there really no hope of reconciliation?

They looked about, and the devastation they had wrought upon themselves became apparent.

Who remembered who had drawn first blood? Ten thousand years of war, and now no one did. But since then, genocide had followed conquest had followed genocide had followed conquest; and their history, a panegyric on blood and hate, bequeathed from father to son, had sowed the seeds of inherited war; till now, when all that was good had perished.

The books of history would have to be burnt then, and their deceiving truths buried; their forefathers would have to be killed, or else they would sing their symphonies for ever-more, and their wars would have no end.

So they tore down their monuments.

Beautiful palaces of marble so serene, as if made of clouds plucked from the heavens and compressed to brick, were broken down to rubble, the rubble pounded to dust and blown away with the wind. For they were too reminiscent of the kings of old, who had raised massive armies, and waged terrible wars, and taught their subjects that the art of war was a noble art and a virtuous art. War had to be forgotten, and so these ancient kings had to be forgotten.

Even so, they razed their own cities to the ground. They did this with some remorse, for these cities had not been lacking at all in splendour, and had been home to great poets and great thinkers in the ages past. Once perhaps even lovers would’ve sauntered through their gardens, and children, happy, frolicked on their streets-- but now these cities were the legacy of death and slaughter, and the stench of blood had taken root deep within their walls. They razed them to the ground, and on their blood-drunk earth grew forests thick and wild, that obscured them from view; the most desperate seeker would not find their site.

Then they had to lose their faith. Zealotry had caused so much woe, that they could not possibly risk the remembrance of their gods. Even the most devout suffered to blaspheme against their deities. They broke the idols of their gods and ripped in two the books of wisdom which through the centuries had been handed down to them, with life preserved against famine and flood. They consoled their mourning selves, by swearing that they would write their myths anew and found a new religion incapable of perversion. But in their hearts, they knew that a godless world would likely be less sinful than their faithful one.

At last, with trembling hands, they raised to their lips draughts of amnesia; they had to become orphans now, in memory at least if not in birth. The draught would make them forget clan and family. With trembling hands, and souls that writhed, cried out in torment at the thought of forgetting their forefathers. Their forefathers, they pled to them for forgiveness, for mercy; and cursed them for all of their suffering.

They faltered; they could not--theirs’ was a dying world, but must all die? Could not the faintest memory remain, the last miserable remnant of a fallen world? But it would spread, and it would breed; from a single drop the blood-seed would build itself again, and sing; till the last stinking corpse rotted bloodless.

Forgiveness, O you that were glory! Forgiveness, O you that were honour! What end could be to total war but total death?

So they gulped down the fiery liquid and burned away their mothers and their fathers from their hearts.

And so they were liberated.

They had no recollection of their past selves now; the world before had turned to ash and dust. With vacant eyes they looked about, not knowing kith and kin, not knowing how to raise a sword nor knowing whom to raise a sword for. With everything else, War had died, Misery had died. Once they were fallen, but now they knew nothing of their fall and so were risen again. As innocent children, they were-- one with the wind, and the earth, and the sun. And one with each other.

Seven Drops of Rain | Sharan Rao

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Seven drops of rain

land gently on my hand,

each one, I see,

has its own, unique beauty.

The first is so well groomed,

and perfectly round;

it looks like it’s seen the world

and travelled all around.

The second moves mischievously,

like a playful child,

naïve and trusting,

but carefree and wild.

The third sits quietly

on my palm,

perfectly still,

content and calm.

The fourth is simply lovely

to look upon,

to mesmerize the senses

it seems to have been born.

The fifth looks awkward

but also shows a quality rare,

for it shields the others

with great love and care.

Number six appears to be in a fix,

for it knows not what to do,

but as it finds its niche,

it surpasses the others too.

The last, clear like the purest stream,

though hollow and empty it does seem,

with the brilliance of every quality stands tall,

like the light of wisdom that resides in all.

There Are Wars Brewing, They Say | Riya Roy

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

My uncle gulping down

shots of whiskey neat

growls how we need more wars.

My cousin agrees,

while I see in a distance,

homes lit up, one moment,

in flames, the next,

generations of men and women

charred, their skins, marrows, hopes

up in smokes,

wreaths in a sky

that is still everyone's.

The room falls quiet,

redolent of the hours

after a massacre, a stench

of rotten fruits in the kitchen

where a spread is being cooked

for the goddess has returned from a battle.

At the dinner table,

we don't lift our heads,

but instead stare

at our plates as if the food

would rearranfe itself into atlases

guiding us to each other.

My mother lifts her glass

to the sky, and for the nth time,

we let an empty prayer of words

we never use otherwise

infiltrate the frontlines

of silence between us.

There are wars brewing, they say,

and in every newspaper we read,

we look for footprints muddy

on the porch so that

they can be cleaned

before the whole house gets dirty.

But these heavy trails

are carried on shoulders of the air,

stuffing our lungs like cigarrette smoke.

And only when short of breath,

we start looking for peace like lost keys

to a room which like my uncle's heart

remains bolted from inside.

Time | Alina Amir Khan

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Saints tell me,

"Dots move against time."

Or so it seems

For I believe

Dots remain static,

It's the hands on the face

Of the imperative Godmen,

Creasing the edges of a smile.

My Devices Control Me | Shalini Chhabra

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

My devices complete me

I think

I have forgotten what it is like

To think ‘just with my mind’

My devices are like an extension of my brain

Hosting memories

And a one step away search

I register sound of a notification

Much before the sound of the sparrow that perched.

In any conversation,

I have words on the tip of my tongue, well almost

But I hardly can say it through and through

If I am stuck for a second

Google comes to my rescue

Ensuring I don’t trouble my mind a lot

I take this help unapologetically

Without a doubt

I hear people around

But I seldom really listen

Because the reels in my phone

Have me engaged and smitten

With half hearted attention

And earplugs-in

added with

Almost zilch observation

I walk around.

I haven’t been hit by a vehicle so far

Makes me astound

Losing my train of thought

Is an often occurrence in life

Anxiety, panic

Seem to be my partners for life

When I am listening to you

My mind is hardly in ‘that moment’

I am like a moon of thought

Oscillating between full and crescent

These devices surely give us a long vision

But a callous nearby sight

My shallow opinions

Are just a google way

Blurring my wrong and right

And, I don’t seek mental help

Because it plays down the

happy illusion I have built

I don’t apologize, I don’t confess

I prefer my old friend guilt

You know,

Not just me,

But a thousand clones of me

Though we are all

drowning in this abyss together

But no one seems to be keen

to swim out from this pretentious sea.

Dear reader, care to drive me out

to an island where I am just me

Where I feel the winds

the sun

and the laps of the sea

Where I control my devices

and the devices don't control me.

Nostalgia is the devil | Gillian D'Souza

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

I’ve always felt good health

is a wickedly funny thing.

People wish her well, and

laud her wellbeing at 95.

My begrudging smile, now

a dreary disguise, for

things they don’t know, for

this ache we gatekeep

behind old, frail doors.

Nocturnal nights. Rare

when she remembers me.

Incessant wailing, hysteria.

Her nails gnaw at my skin.

And soon realization dawns

that we’ll ever be bound:

her fading mind and my guilt.

Fragments of my grandma

to which I cling desperately

with gloom. Some days I’m

her mother or her sister,

donning new hats, and

learning new tunes.

COVID was the worst of it

and Grandma could not hide

I willed myself not to crumble

as her oxygen levels nosedived.

Yet mine stayed the only voice

she answered to in those weeks;

my shaking hands hid a prayer

in every mouthful I tried to feed.

My face in hopeful disbelief when

her body was no longer blue.

Our doctor called it a miracle;

Who am I to claim that untrue?

Nostalgia is the devil. It tempts

one to forego rationale, all for

some semblance of affection

that may have bid us adieu.

Years later, my parents fight

over a sleeping pill: “Let her age

without burden before this life

sets her still.” Do we pick peace

over morality? Grandma can’t see

nor hear. She only waits and wails,

while we hold on to our nostalgia.

Sky is no longer blue | Prakriti Roy

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

If tomorrow our sky is no longer blue,

The sun will shine upon us directly through,

With its radiation,

Increase in mutation,

Peril will fall upon the world,

Oh please oh please save the world.

Millions of dreams to reach the moon,

Will all fall into the doom,

No longer will float the clouds,

What would we daydream about?

All we'll hear is loud shrills.

From humanity fallen into perils,

Under the direct sun, the trees

Will no longer be home to the bees,

Hearing a distant cry,

Thinking about the efforts I'll try,

Undo the changes of death,

Giving everyone a new breath.

Please Oh Please, let’s wait no further,

Save our earth from this blunder,

Seeing the colourless sky,

Forces me unto cry,

Gone are the days,

I used to look onto the haze,

With a sky blue no more,

This heart gave me a deep sore,

The black outer space,

Is whenever upwards I graze,

Into the emptiness my eyes blink,

Slowly but slowly my pupils shrink,

Filled with tears,

My inner death is near.

Into the old memories I look,

The hopes that it all took,

Gone are all the wishes, shattered are dreams,

Invisible is the bird's swarms,

Lost is the peace of mind,

The culprit is the humankind.

No longer can I imagine,

Destruction of the Earth's eugene,

With the fear in my mind,

It's best left behind,

Thinking about the brighter tomorrow,

Without the blue sky is a sorrow,

Peace be in the land,

Let the happiness expand,

For, If the sky is no longer blue,

Let this verse pass through.

We talked less | Anuja Guha

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

We talked less

Or maybe you didn’t want a mess

I sat beside you

When I thought you should’ve coz it was long overdue

Was it your mood swing

Was it you just being indifferent

Only when I thought It was okay

There it is backfiring right at me

My efforts are never enough

Thinking about it makes my day rough

Seems like you’re happier with others

Or maybe for you nothing matters

We talked less!

Because there was stress

Stress that smirked

Like it won every time we were irked

Wind | Adyasha Biswal

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

The breeze plants a tender kiss,

A wind rises from within

Carrying along a fluttering heart

Eyes close, an unknown gratitude kicks in

Freedom, Fragility, Fall, Flight,

What does the wind taste like

A myriad of emotions,

twining into this moment of respite

All things restrained crumbling away,

with the gust permeating through me.

My senses unwinding in the fragrance,

of mist, wet earth, winter, spring

The moment passes through like any,

Leaving behind a bracing relief.

In silence, unconditionally loving,

Nature's healing unified with the wind.

Mind Full of Tabs | Sanika Alwa

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

I wake up every day flicking through the

100 tabs opened in my mind

The mind has a lot to process at once

And probably not at the best time of the day

I try to organize these under labels

The ones that resonate with my state of mind on that day

For the past few weeks

These have been hurt, anger, sensitive, confused

The thoughts are neatly sheltered under these tabs

My mind looks sorted, contradictory to what it feels like

Each emotion has a color associated with it

My mind full of rainbows is now ready to face yet another day

With all its might

More thoughts come in and go out each day

I try not to bookmark any

These are not meant to stay

I sleep every night imagining my collection of happy tabs

Filled with thoughts I cannot wait to process!

My mind is still a work in progress

But isn’t everything so?

Sacred Union | Ananya Dixit

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Many nights passed by,

Just gazing at the sky,

The stars, the moon, the entire ambience, the entire construct,

And I, an individual, an incomplete identity,

still searching for completeness.

Similar was this night as well,

But, with a difference.

For the very first time these shackles of identity seemed to be unlocked,

A sense of freedom, an absolute freedom from within engulfed me.

So strong was this feeling of silent infinite expansion of consciousness,

That I, an empty vessel was filled with life’s exuberance.

Dissolving it was, as every cell in my body was bursting with ecstasy.

Unable to fathom and discern,

followed my instincts to explore more.

From, at a distance, I just observed these changes,

Changes that were altering the very fabric,

the very foundation of my existence.

The concepts of time and distance just vanished,

And my heart was filled with a deep sense of inclusiveness and completeness.

The entire experience was so intoxicating,

That silence just overwhelmed me.

There were no communicative sound exchanges,

But, silently, every feeling of my heart was being nurtured and was riding over the cool gentle breeze around,

Carrying my heart felt desire to the consciousness by my side.

With limited understanding and awestruck,

I decided to go with the flow,

And just when I reached the peak of my joy,

I saw a face.

A face that has an irresistible assurance of faith,

A smile that had a blinding flash of light,

Drooping eyes that resembles a lotus radiating with full life and energy.

As I moved on to explore more,

A sudden force just sucked me in.

So strong was this magnet that the entire core, every cell just couldn’t relinquish the pull,

But, align with the geometry of the expanded consciousness.

Desperate to delve deep into this experience,

I decided to walk.

Walk a terrain unknown to me,

Just that face and me.

As the sun rose to its glory and the moon still watching it meekly,

The entire earth started witnessing the dance of creation, the dance of duality.

This union was spectacular and reverential,

And, I and the face also participants in this play of duality,

Witnessed this sacred union in absolute silence.

Inwardly we both were silent,

Outwardly the light and sound show was on,

And as the sparkling beam of sun fell on the face by my side,

I knew at once that this is the shine I wanted to have in my life,

This is the nectar which will fill my empty vessel.

The whistling of wind, the beauty of nature in bounty, the grace in the face of the face,

Transcended me to a place beyond description,

That humming of music was almost a consequence.

As I reflect back to those memorable moments,

That filled me with the abundance of happiness,

I can’t stop myself from expressing my deepest gratitude to the Almighty for his blessings.

Hoping and praying devoutly within hearts of hearts that one day,

This sacred and sacrosanct union would conclude for not once,

But, for many more lifetimes to come,

Leading to the gateway of final union and liberation for both – the face and me.

रिश्ते काम के या फिर नाम के | Nadeem Ahmad

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

रिश्ते कभी गुलाबों की तरह खिलते हैं

रिश्ते कभी ज़ख्मों की तरह रिसते हैं

रिश्ते कभी ख़ुशी देते हैं

रिश्ते कभी ग़म देते हैं

रिश्ते कभी हंसाते हैं

रिश्ते कभी रुलाते हैं

रिश्ते कभी फूल बनते हैं

रिश्ते कभी कांटे हो जाते हैं

रिश्तों से कभी शहनाई होती है

रिश्तों से कभी तन्हाई होती है

रिश्तों से कोई हैवान होता है

रिश्तों से कोई इंसान होता है

रिश्ते कभी चलते रहते हैं

रिश्ते कभी ठहर जाते हैं

रिश्तों से ज़िन्दगी संवर जाती है

रिश्तों से दुनिया बिखर जाती है

रिश्तों से अपने मिल जाते हैं

रिश्तों से अपने बिछड़ जाते हैं

रिश्तों मैं कभी अहम् होता है

रिश्तों में कभी रहम होता है

रिश्तों मैं कभी गुरुर होता है

रिश्तों में कभी सुरूर होता है

रिश्तों में कभी अना होती है

रिश्तों में कभी सना होती है

रिश्ते कभी निभाए जाते हैं

रिश्ते कभी ठुकराए जाते हैं

रिश्ते कभी लबक देते हैं

रिश्ते कभी सबक़ देते हैं

रिश्ते कभी साहिल होते हैं

रिश्ते कभी राहिल होते हैं

रिश्ते कभी ज़िंदगी हैं

रिश्ते कभी बंदगी हैं

रिश्ते कई रंग के होते हैं

रिश्ते कई ढंग के होते हैं

रिश्ते कभी खून से निभाए जाते हैं

रिश्ते कभी फ़ोन से निभाए जाते हैं

रिश्ते नदीम अब सिर्फ एक फरेब है

इनको बुनने में शामिल हर एक है

रिश्ते नदीम अब सिर्फ एक छलावा है

ज़िंदगी मैं बहुत कुछ इसके अलावा है

रिश्ते नदीम अब किसकी मर्ज़ी है

रिश्ते अब सबकी ख़ुदग़र्ज़ी है

अना: अभिमान, सना: कला, लबक: दक्षता, साहिल: किनारा, राहिल: पथ

(it ends with us) | Shubhangi AVS

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

met up outside of town,

for sugar with some coffee for my diabetic heart.

talked about the heat, the blisters on my feet.

took me 105 days to get here,

i kept losing my way on smoke-filled streets with pretty girls.

girls with satin skin, vicious roots and,

maxed out cards drawing straight white lines.

dragged myself out from the cracked mausoleum,

made it to the picket fences,

turned right back around

and lost my sanity in the woods with blazing ants,

and skyscrapers of memories dripping with honey.

took me a while to get to you again,

i think it took 200 days.

the sugar is not sweet enough,

and i wish i could taste it.

drenched in sweat, my body twitches -

like a worm desperate to escape death.

my entrails hate me,

they wish to jump out and choke me -

they told me.

took me a while to get to you,

i’ve been floundering for years,

i think it was some 5.

i could be wrong, my memory doesn’t serve me right.

could be the pseudoephedrine or the novocaine.

outside this ghost town is where life starts.

i sit in front of you, with now cold coffee,

nervous fingers and mountains of regret.

like a cracked cup of china;

you look pretty, in a damaged way.

i see you, happy and sober,

i wish i got to us sooner.

(sobriety)

Do your own thing. Will you? | Shambhavi Warad

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

The roof of humanity, we all bought from the same shop.

Yet, to seem unique, relying upon the interiors, in search, we hop.

We eat, breathe, and wear the same.

Yet fight our lives to buy fancier names.

Moving eyes over the moving world I feel,

Are they heading to catch a cloud, that is meant to flee?

The era of long walks and longer talks has suddenly faded.

The tech-time is being celebrated, and humans to it have acceded.

Being an idiot addict once to a false state,

I strived my paws back into the calmer estate.

Planting a root in my garden, and watching it grow into a colorful art,

It struck me to the core, why is this not as appreciated as a new technological tart?

I knocked my head and woke myself up.

Made tea, and took my favorite cup.

Running into a robotic world, am I allowed to stick up with a joyful enterprise, I thought.

Where I would not have to run a race daily to a destination I never sought.

Humans are staying more silent than ever, only their Instagram talks.

The peace of sharing emotions, with tears of joy or sorrow, has become a trail over nobody walks.

A misunderstanding turns out to be a mighty issue over a WhatsApp chat.

Meet them in person, seeing the other, laughing hard, you would rather bid goodbye to the spat.

Everyone wants to build a new technology. The ‘start-up’ fad is in.

Nobody notices, how far they have grown from their roots, seeking an advanced living.

In the noises of the vehicles and machines,

Their heart’s echoes are ignored by dear beings.

Humans are planning for the next ten years.

Leaving in the air the bonds that fed their hearts for years.

To earn bucks that could buy a fancy concrete mountain,

Even if the air and water would just come from a polluted fountain.

Staying with the near ones is judged to be a weakness now.

Moving modern and staying alone are fancier meanings of freedom, ow!

Not that the technology isn’t significant, it is for sure.

Driving our lives with some dreamy things that we never thought would be on board.

But, the earth runs with a balance.

Not everyone has to run the same race. We all have different levels of endurance.

If sowing seeds makes you happy, why not do it for a living?

Everyone would cheer you for the fruits you bore, smacking and clapping.

I might be misplaced in this century I feel.

I was supposed to be born in times of love and light when money was a necessity, not a zeal.

The cost of doing things you want, might not pay you enough.

Yet, your heart would be the happiest kid, which to ignore seems tough.

Talk to yourself, and take some time off. Rest your mind, take a rug, and get in.

Do not lose yourself in the modern maze, listening to your heart is always in.

The sun of the next day is waiting.

Hope you know what is your calling!

Tum Bas Tum Ho | Amit Saraf

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

I

तुम अलग नहीं, तुम बस तुम हो

उतने ही अलग, जितने हम सब

तुम और हम में हो फर्क़ ही क्यों

है जब, हम सब का, एक ही रब

तुम भी उस रब की ज़ुबान हो

तुम भी तो उस की जान हो

तुम सीना तान के रहा करो

तुम ख़ुद अपनी पहचान हो

क्यों माना तुम में है कुछ कम

क्यों घुट के जी रहे हो हर दम

'शायद कुछ ऐब मुझ में ही है',

ये सोच न करना कभी आंख नम

है हक़ सबको अपनी करने का

जिसपे दिल करे उसपे मरने का

जब बुरा किसी का किया नहीं

फिर बिंदास रह, क्यूँ डरने का

हक़ किसी भी राह पे चलने का

ख़ुद के सपनों को बदलने का

किसी और के कहे पे न जा के

मर्ज़ी की चाहत में जलने का

हर 'अलग' को दुनिया बस कोसती है

तुम्हारी खूबियों की उन्हें परवाह कहाँ

उन्हें खुश कभी कर पाओगे भी नहीं

भले उल्टे लटक जाओ तुम मेरी जाँ

करते रहो इबादत तुम प्यार की

किसी को भी उसे ना हराने दो

अपनी किस्मत तुम ख़ुद ही लिखो

उसमें खुशियों को ही बस आने दो

दो पल ही तो हैं हम सबके पास

बस प्यार का ये दरिया बहने दो

तुम दुनिया की चिंता छोड़ो

उसे जो कहना है कहने दो

II

और तुम जो इतना उनसे चिढ़ते हो

कभी सोचा भी है कि ये सही है क्या

बस मान लिया वो हैं गलत, पर क्यूँ

ये बात किसी ने कभी कही है क्या

तुम चाहो तो वो चाहत है लाज़मी

कोई और चाहे तो है कुछ और ही

थी चाहत उनकी भी सदियों से ये

बस किया किसी ने न कभी गौर ही

ये सही है प्यार और वो है गलत

बस माना तुमने कि है ये तौर ही

बदलो अपनी इस सोच को अब

देखो बदल गया अब तो दौर ही

क्या तुमने चुना था तुम हो जैसे

क्या जानते हो कि यूँ बने कैसे

गर नहीं तो क्या हक़ है तुमको

कि पूछो क्यूँ नहीं वो तुम जैसे

और अगर बनाया किसी और ने है

तो कुछ सोच कर जोड़े होंगे न तार

नफ़रत कुछ कम है क्या इस जहाँ में

जो तुम्हें प्यार से भी नफ़रत है यार

एहसास हम सब में एक ही है

हर दिल में है बस प्यार, बेशुमार

तुम अपना लो उनके प्यार को

हर पल लगाते होंगे वो गुहार

जो बीच खड़ी की हैं दीवारें

उन दीवारों को अब ढहने दो

जो जैसा है वैसे अपना लो

जो जैसा है वैसे रहने दो

न रहेगा कोई भी हमेशा यहाँ

हैं पास तुम्हारे भी दो ही पल

वो गुज़ारोगे ग़र अपना के उन्हें

तो हर पल लाएगा एक बेहतर कल

हर पल लाएगा एक बेहतर कल....

amidst chaos and comfort | Aahna Vashishtha

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

these days i’ve been dwindling like the pendulum of a clock,

left - right,

left - right,

can’t seem to get hold of my centre

the clock strikes 9

9:05,

9:10,

i need to wake up now.

the obtuse angle those tiny hands make

is much less than the anxiety packed in my heart.

i somehow make it past them while pushing the weird noises inside my head to the underside of the bed.

I can’t wrap my head around how i have somehow suddenly become the incharge of the vinyl record that plays in my head,

the one which earlier housed sounds of unrhythmic laughter, of innocence and ignorance

and now I’m left with the task of choosing between jarring voices of confusion and chaos,

of questions hunting for answers whilst haunting my being.

I glance across my room and discover a small cabinet that screams EMERGENCY KIT

which essentially is an escape hatch for days when everything around me is covered with a blanket of bleakness.

I quickly crawl and hide inside it.

after hours of moping around the corridors, i gather what’s left of me to retreat to the familiar battleground like a soldier who has faught many wars but won none.

i sense something different as i enter a home instead of my old, dreary house.

i try seeing through my blurred vision and trembling hands,

the sky is no longer an over-arching void

but a hanging ceiling made of tissues,

i pluck some of them to wipe away the blues from under my eyes.

I walk up once again to my bulletin

and find it filtered through colors of kindness that have slid in the shape of

smiles, silences and soft embraces

I unpack my heart of the cruel anxiety and fill it with these.

It feels lighter than ever!

“how did it know i needed this?” I wonder

“don’t we all” the air whispered back

I turn halfway around and my face beams with a crescent moon.

the to-do list still hangs,

but i see a tattoo etched on my wrist which spells

“It’s hard but not scary anymore”

and i march this time,

UNAFRAID

carrying a beaming warmth within.