A story of the cocoon and Labyrinth - Shruthi Sharma

Amidst the silky webs, undergoing the toughest trials,

Where bouts intermingle, in life’s extra knit grip.

A beast beholds me tightly, not letting me go,

From dawn till dusk, my soul it consumes.

Every morning I arise to the monotony of repetition.

Repetition of routine, holding me so tight and close.

Close enough to destroy my yearning whispers,

To rise enough and undergo metamorphosis.

I am still in the cocoon, a space, a sanctuary,

A sanctuary of bitter truths traversing a silent storm .

A storm big enough to catapult a mystical being,

A being, such as me, pulling away from transforming.

I look inside, and I see a power,

A power of within holding me upright.

Upright enough to break free from the cocoon,

Seeking solace in the dreams, I strive to get free.

A resolute spirit, a tired body and an evasive mind,

Mind full of possibilities and inspiration.

As I navigate the toughest labyrinth of existence,

I still fight to strive each day.

I dream of a day with wings emerging,

Expanding to unfurl the greatest spirits,

Soring on the canvas of the evergreen sky

Sky with hues of dark blue, purple and pink

Soaring to catapult away from the labyrinth.

Metamorphosis, an ancient symphony of transformation

Amidst darkness, storm and a knit world,

A radiant bloom with testament of resilience

Waiting to flourish and dance in the skies.

For within all of me, is a dormant fire,

A volcano which can change the world in a split.

Bouncing into the world with a chance of rebirth,

Through metamorphosis, I find my truth.

Winds of change, winds of fire as I traverse,

Traverse through the threads of the cocoon.

Mastering the space of the labyrinth,

Through metamorphosis, I found myself yet again!

For today is a little too precious,

Precious to keep my wings upright.

Soar enough to traverse the complex labyrinth,

Yet return to the cocoon to tell a story !

Breathe and Be- Savita Narayan

Whirling in a wild dance, I stumble out of

My mind, my body,

And as I do

I see wings, flapping trapping wind

I see streams

The sun skiing, snorkelling on tides

Stone spilling stillness and sunshine

Whispering sweet nothing to the sky

Clouds roaring with laughter, breathing spring

Into the bird who stomps in style

Time falls as I fly

I die before I die

All of life- a car journey

Fleeting, dreaming

here then there

Sometimes Mountain peak calling

Then Foothill weed kissing

Stop

Still

Freeze

Come here

Come within

Still as the tree

Dazzling as the sun

Burst like the cloud full of poems

Stretch both feet- breathe

And with that beam

That lights the world

Declare, I am already here

There’s no where I have to go

No where I have to be

But here, here alone

Breathe and be

Symposium on a dinner table- Mounisha Tripathi

Six chairs, three on each side

The head sits at the farthest right

Away from the danger,

the cardboard of protestors, ‘Arms’ of the protectors.

It will not be black,But mahogony.

Not futhur explained.

The lovers sit on tables facing each other,

Or the adjacent ones,

Or were they not lovers at all?

Just bodies who have seen the other’s cellulite

Discovering a certain desire of hunger.

The children you ask?

Which children?

The glass panels of the school are still broken.

Same colours have same meanings, they say

Father’s anger will be the ketchup

The lover’s blue the water

Their inevitable end, the meat in the middle.

Gorged and stared at by everyone,

ravished into flames.

Returning to the table each night,

as ghastly as visiting the scenes of a fatal execution : of love, happiness and immortality.

No romanticising the table they say

But what about the countless coffee stains?

From the nights that remain unnamed,

Chambers of the heart that mingled and seperated

again and again and again.

It's marmalade!

No its whipped cream.

The table is solitude,

Unasked freedom that is dreamt upon on wretched nights.

It is the place you paint your nails a bright red colour

Remembering the wounds,

The endless war.

Dear Maa | Padmini Peteri

Dear Maa

You called me heartless

as I didn’t shed a tear

yes, I couldn’t

because I didn’t want to accept the reality.

I sat by him whom everyone

called a body, and felt

the cremation burning in my mind,

of my own heart, of my own soul.

I watched his motionless chest and

hoped it’ll turn

into a pulsating one soon,

I tried to observe everything

before the pain grappled me

Grappled my skin and soul but

I couldn’t feel my emotions all I could hear were

your words that haunt me forever:

Are you a rock? Don’t you love him? Cry!

I love him much more than you can imagine Maa,

he was and will always be

my little brother, my best friend

I know I should have cried but

I was so broken to let a tear pass down,

I was scared, if I cried

his death would turn into a reality!

My eyes felt like they were born out of drought,

dry no matter what,

when people touched me,

screamed at me, stared at me,

reality whispered to me

it threw me into a never-ending tunnel,

I felt empty,

drawn towards lifelessness,

I knew the reality but

I couldn’t cry maa, a part of me left my soul,

the loss of a loved one and the burden of your judgement!

I filled my stomach with food but only felt emptiness

a pit, a void within me, that shadowed my heart,

I felt a captive of pain, of being judged,

A tsunami within, chaos filled my days.

I no longer prayed or hoped,

pain shadowed me day and night,

my heart lingered around the one I lost

and the judgment that you passed on me Maa,

the loss of my brother will never heal me

nor your sorry will take away the chaos I experience,

but your sorry may help me not feel this pathetic Maa!

Lotus- Shambhavi Dewedi

A zillion times, repetitively, exasperation feels not exaggerated of a term when 'Lotus blooms in mud' is articulated. Yes, indeed, most certainly it does! But, the mud has grown an oesophagus to swallow the lotus that grows on its surface because it is rooted in shame. The mud inside my rusty garden of a soul is said to be dirt or worse, nothing is spoken. Denial, apathy, ignorance, a mastery of not seeing stars on a starry night, blindness of heart not of eyes.There are no words, just decoration of plastic flowers over a land of quicksand to cover up as if there were a crime scene, the mud engulfs as many as you put on top of it but the process is unending. Perhaps, it yearns for some loathing, some hatred, some disgust, some disowning but there's none and nothing hurts like not being acknowledged, for it is the biggest slur. The presence is not present if not seen and what's not present isn't worthy of anything.

Purani Almari - Rupam Malakar

Ek purani almari dekhi thi maine,

Kisi kone mein,

Dher saari kitaben honi chahiye thi waha,

Par kuch bin ahamiyat ki cheezen thi,

Jiski zarurat hogi kisi ko,

Mujhe nahi thi,

Socho agar kitaben hoti waha,

Unme se ek kitab tumhari likhi hui,

Jise main har roz padhta,

Shabdo ko sunta tumhari awaaz mein,

Din nikal jaata yun hi,

Tumhe yaad karte karte,

Jaise ab tak nikli hain,

Subah hote hi aankh kholta hoon,

Toh tum dikhti ho,

Aaj bhi,

Din bhar zehn mein mere rehti ho,

Thak jaata hoon toh yaadon mein meri basti ho,

Ro lu toh ashkon se beh jaati ho,

So jaata hoon toh sapno mein chali aati ho,

Mujhe satane ko,

Mujhe hasaane ko,

Mujhe pukaarne ko,

Haan main aa raha hoon,

Tum rahogi na,

Mere saath,

Kisi baat ka darr nahi ab,

Bus fanaa ho jaana hain,

Aag mein jhulas jaana hain,

Is purani almari mein aag lag jaane do,

Magar tumhari kitab jalegi nahi,

Kyunki woh tumhari likhawat hogi,

Ek dhaarmik granth jaisi,

Waisa hi kuch,

Saccha sa,

Warna is kavita ko likhne ka kya phaayda,

Aur tumhari likhi hui kitab ko padhne ka kya phaayda,

Use badal kar nahi,

Dimaag se nahi,

Dil se likkho,

Phir dekhna tum,

Aag mein pani girne par bhi,

Woh kabhi bujhega nahi,

Humesha jalte rahega,

Ek mashaal ki tarah,

Seene mein,

Tumhare bhi,

Aur mere bhi.

Papa | Muskan Anmol Khullar

Time, they say, heals all the pain.

But they never said how to deal with that pain. Isn’t that insane ?

Poles apart, there lived a piece of my heart,

Who taught me the way to life and how to respect mumma, sister and my wife.

In the blink of an eye, he just became the brightest star,

that he just seemed so far.

Glancing at my phone’s screen,

Wishing to see ‘papa’ ringing on it, is now just a dream.

He used to say, ‘weak are those who cry’,

To hide my tears and smile is the only thing I try.

It’s been months I’ve seen his ever shining smile and glowing face,

That literally helped me get through life’s race.

You are the perfect example of a gentleman,

But nothing changes the fact, that I was and always be your biggest fan.

Nasha Mera Khuda- Deepika MANJU SINGH

Ek insaan Khuda se gila karta hua....(Drug Addict)

Gamo me itna dooba hun,

Pareshaniyon me itna ghira hun,

Nashe ko apna khuda banakar,

Dusre azaabo ko bula baitha hun.

Haq nahi hai, teri rahmato se mili zindagi ko tabah karne ka,

Par ab wapsi ke raste band hai,

To bebas hokar maut ke kafan ko odh kar leta hun.

Kahaan tha tu pehle,

Jo kabhi dikhayi nahi diya,

Khuda ho kar bhi,

Apni nazre churata raha.

Akela chod rakha tha zaleemo ke beech,

Kya tujhe kabhi mera khayal naa tha?

Ab mat kehna, kyun kiya apne sath aisa,

Tu to kabhi mere par meherbaan hi naa tha.

Khuda ka jawab:

Gam aur pareshaniyan di thi maine, maanta hoon,

Par kaash tu inko jhel pata,

Fida ho jata tujh par mein,

Agar tu azaabo ko khatam kar pata.

Haq shayad tha tujhe apni zindagi se khelne ka,

Phir bhi ek baar, waapsi ke raste par mera naam lekar to aata,

Namumkin bhi mumkin ho jata, mujh par yakeen rakh kar to aata.

Nazre kaise chura sakta tha tujhse, karta aisa to khuda na reh jata.

Tera khayal na rakhkar, Khud ko kabhi maaf na kar pata.

Kabhi nahi sawal karunga, Ki kyun kiya tune aisa,

Par puchunga sirf itna,

Ki apno ko kyun duniya me akela chod aaya,

Apni sari jimmedariyan kaise bhula aaya.

Colours of White | Anukriti Ashok

Gazing at the clear blue sky,

with hope in my eyes,

I took his hand in mine, and

sealed his love

with a dainty red line.

Gradually, the line faded.

Or rather, it was shrouded

by several others,

each bigger and deeper

than the other.

Red switched to crimson, then maroon.

Soon, got weary and changed its tune.

Now, it wears shades of blue, until

it turns into a hopeless, forgotten hue.

Vows taken by the yellow fire,

momentarily evoked his ardent desire

that grew even more vivid,

with every glass he poured

of the golden liquid.

Still, it didn’t drown his fury,

whenever I cried, “NO”, or

profusely said, “I am Sorry!”

At times, we did cherish

some orange sunsets together.

But, they never came

with a promise to last forever.

Now, there is only a small tinge remaining,

beneath the dying embers, slowly greying.

The sky was grey all along,

the dove was singing the same song.

Yet, I kept waiting

for the stormy rain to pass,

desperately hoping

for clear skies and greener grass.

I knew it was leading nowhere;

the pain becoming too much to bear.

Then, why did I hold on in the first place,

when there was nothing left to chase?

Time had come, for me to end it all;

to break all chains and demolish the wall.

Time to let myself see the light, and

paint my life’s canvas with, colours of white.

जन मानस की कलम से - Narendra Kumar Shinde

तुमसे मिलने हरदम मेरा दिल घबराया रेहता है

तुमसे मिलने हरदम मेरा दिल घबराया रेहता है

जब जाता हॅू द्वार तुम्हारे, द्वारे से भगाया जाता हॅू

जिस रस्ते से तुम आऐ हो उसी से होकर आया हॅू

जिस रस्ते से तुम आऐ हो उसी से होकर आया हॅू

तुम जा पहॅुचे राजमहल मे, मैं फुटपाथौं पर रेहता हॅू

जो जा पहॅुचे राजमहल मे चढ़कर मेरे कांधों पर

जो जा पहॅुचे राजमहल मे चढ़कर मेरे कांधों पर

आज उन्ही के दरबारों मे, अपनी पहचान बताता हॅू

कैसी शादी कैसी बिदाई अभी किधर आज़ादी है

कैसी शादी कैसी बिदाई अभी किधर आज़ादी है

गौने पर जो चूड़ी रखी थी, कहॉ छुड़ा मैं पाता हॅू

आज़ादी के घाव भरे हैं अभी हमारे जिस्मो पर

आज़ादी के घाव भरे हैं अभी हमारे जिस्मो पर

देख तुम्हारी चिकनी चमड़ी, मैं दंग दंग रेह जाता हॅू

पंचतारा होटल में बैठकर दुश्मन का देते मॅूह तोड़

पंचतारा होटल में बैठकर दुश्मन का देते मॅूह तोड़

ऐैसे देश के सपूतों को, सरहद पे देखना चाहता हॅू

कैसी होली कैसी दिवाली तुम खेलो रंग और फाग

कैसी होली कैसी दिवाली तुम खेलो रंग और फाग

सरहद पर दुश्मन चौकस है, मै गोली मारने जाता हॅू

कैसे गीत लिखॅू सुंदरी पर गीत मुझे नहीं आते हैं

कैसे गीत लिखॅू सुंदरी पर गीत मुझे नहीं आते हैं

जन गण मन और वन्दे मातरम्, बस दो ही गीत मैं गाता हॅू

ये दो ही गीत मैं गाता हॅू ।

मंज़िल होगी हासिल तुझे | Nisha Gautam

लौ जलाकर आंधियों में तू उजाला करता चल,

मंज़िल होगी हासिल तुझे, उम्मीदों का प्याला भरता चल।

याद रख यह हौसलों से बनती नई कहानी है,

जो करेगा नव निर्माण, उसकी अमिट कहानी है।

ऊर्जस्वित हो उठ खड़ा तू, अविजित, दुर्जेय है तू।

छोड़कर मन की कसक को, तू ठसक से बढ़ता चल।

मंज़िल होगी हासिल तुझे , उम्मीदों का प्याला भरता चल।

मत निहाल हो एक विजय पर, युद्ध अनेक अभी लड़ने हैं।

कर वरण अपनी पराजय, अशनि- घात अभी सहने हैं।

तेजस्वित हो उठ खड़ा तू, जनसंकुल का नीरव बन तू,

बिन पाथेय, बिन संबल के तू तड़ित-गति से बढ़ता चल।

मंज़िल होगी हासिल तुझे, उम्मीदों का प्याला भरता चल।

करता रहा क्यों व्यर्थ क्रंदन,अब लगा मस्तक रक्त-चंदन।

तू नहीं मुनहसिर किसी पर और नहीं अनाधीन है।

इस बयाबान का तू स्रष्टा, तू ही वृक्ष गझिन है।

होगी विजय अभिराम तेरी , असि-घातों को सहता चल।

मंज़िल होगी हासिल तुझे, उम्मीदों का प्याला भरता चल।

Ode to a Cat- Yashas Acharya

Memories of a feline vivid

My shin, with velvet fur he frays

His valiant hisses with anger livid

Morph into verily merry displays

His pupil, dark as the moonlit ocean

Circumscribed by an iris, golden

Reads my every grief and notion

And ferries me to wistful days of olden

As I contemplate a quarrel

Or a gut-wrenching game with friends

My tiny, four-legged, white-socked sorrel

Cobbles the path to a blissful end

When screams have overtaken words

And reason drowns in futility

My fowl-breathed "Vahana of Shashthi's" girds

And saves us from naivety

Whence he came to my abode

Only the humble Gods can tell

Thus hath been writ this humble ode

To a humble cat who keeps me well

If all trees were pens | Keroline D'Cunha

O! my green fantasy world

'My Tree-Wonderland' I hold so dear

Each evergreen has a story of its own

Not an eye has met this emerald tone.

My trees sway while they author the firmament

Their core is an artful ink chamber

The nibs sew a compendium of chronicles

Gather o! Nations and drown in this verdant.

Blue heavens I see in my magical vision

Metamorphosing into a magnificent book

Content deep-rooted to convince my soul

Every page a narrative of actuality untold.

I read of timbers yearning to live

I study of shrubs learning to thrive

When the wind kisses the greens of tall;

I puruse their prayer to endure it all .

As leaves murmur I read some more

Trees scribble the blue dome with abhor:

'This concrete jungle is a monstrous den

O! child of man,can't you see what you've done?

The ecosystem is marred, do you care to read?

Our blood on your hands, how much more do you need?

Blood will have blood: some trees record

Some note forgiveness in quest of solace

Some trees list of their ecosystem bearings

And some are reminiscent of their seedling stories.

My vision then leaps into a happier green

Conifers are writing how they'd break free

No fear of the axe swinging at their trunk

'Freedom to flourish' their caption I read.

Every stroke you'll see

Disposing sempiternal cheer

If all trees were pens; this world would be 10X better.

Makes me feel like my lovely solitude- Ishita Pateriya

You in White and I in Black,

With a ink and paper on table

In the wild dark forest inside the cottage

Riding the chariot to the Red Door.

But what if after opening the door only one exist

Then I can have my lovely solitude, 

That I always dreamed of with the moon.

Contrarily, I’ll think of you as always one more time

Grief, resentment, melancholy all at one more time.

In the end, I wished not to walk that Red Door,

Me without you, you without me,

Is not that something I can think.

Walking with you to the black door,

Makes me feel like my lovely solitude.

Romenades | Yatin Phatak

To touch from toe to the top of the hill,

The rain never ends, will bae wait still?

Until night arrive, and noon's heat fades,

Shall I now embark on romantic raids?

My prayer for mankind- Zothantluanga Royte

Often I pray for mankind

Slaves to a socialized generation, and illness is in the mind

We are relentless thinkers, substance abusers and habitual drinkers

But feel liberated because the dealer observes from above,

Manipulating you to fall for the illusions of a temporary high

What we assume we need to get by

I wonder if we are really conscious

when kids are influenced by suicide and depression is trending?

Is doomsday approaching?

We refuse to pay heed and it's all fun and games until one is suicidal

Our role-models are not our idols, we're just continuing the cycle.

I hardly read the news, it's impossible not to feel hopeless

When no one is aware that the devastation came from a man whose legal gun was loaded,

Everything seems watered down and sugarcoated

We voted but did we really get to appoint?

The proof is not needed, it seems like they separate us from the truth

Parents are being separated from their youth

Influencing the American Dream and what it appears to be

But we are not taught that wealth is impossible to attain with their currency

History, is not the story of my kinfolk,

Our pioneers were buried six-feet where men have planted seeds of disease

And they've justified being criminals

Feeding their inner demons and blaming the minorities

World War III seems steady approaching, deciet against greed,

Never you against me

But have we ever thought, of the need for contentment?

They can't force a price on your soul, your religion doesn't matter

Everybody has their own conscientiousness

They decide who's equal

What's acceptable and what's immoral

And this is the villain's world but the almighty will arrive for his people

The Unseen Path | Shruti Pitkar

I walked alone, on the dark street,

Where I couldn't see my own feet.

My eyes sought the source of light,

The darkness mocked me, ignoring my plight.

I kept on walking slow and steady,

And got slower with every step already.

Then someone with a lamp came along,

And guided me through for long.

Sometime after, the path was aglow,

For there was so much in the world to know.

I realized my own abilities,

And to put to use my qualities.

The person gifted me it all,

And I learnt, no task is small.

The path I walked on was of knowledge,

Which kept me from insanity and rage.

Who was the person, I wonder,

It was none other than my teacher!

Dawn’s Dew- Aishwarya Mishra

As a sleepy dawn wakes out of the blanket of satin clouds

to lazily peep out from under the mother Sky’s dreamy lap,

the Sun with his magic wand, cracks open mystery of the dark,

the Moon murmurs a prayer, ere into oblivion she does embark;

what a good luck it is indeed to discover ourselves being alive

to sounds and smells emerging from every nook, cranny and crack,

to the fiesta of colors flaunted by panoramic sky and waterscapes

to pulsating beams of life in trees, nests and stones on landscapes;

wondrous web of hues on freckled wings of birds, bees and flies

as they move in quest of nectar in sieves, with shiny hope in eyes;

to tantalizing beauty of flowers shying away from amorous breeze

to smell of rain from dancing grass and musk of dew on wet trees;

to joy of waves rising from the depth of love’s million honey coves

to sprouts of ecstasy from roots of grave, with life’s zillion loves !

விந்தை அவள்- Prasanna Ganesh

வண்டினம் புடைசூழத் தேன் சொரியும் மலரோ

முன் கண்டிடாத விந்தை இவளெனக் காதோடு பேசிடும் மயிலினமோ

கொஞ்சி குலாவும் அணில் பிள்ளைகள்

அவள் பிஞ்சு விரல் பாதம் வருடிக்

கெஞ்சி விளையாட அழைக்குமோ

அதைக் கண்டு வியந்த மான் கூட்டம்

மெல்லச் சூழ்ந்து அவளை முத்தமிட்டதோ

புல்லின் நுனியில் சிறைப்பட்ட பனித்துளிகள்

அவள் பாதம் பட்டதால் மோச்சம் பெற்றதோ

தேவதை கைப்பட்டுக் கடந்த நதிநீர்

பசுவின் வாய்ப்பட அது தித்தித்ததோ

இயற்கை சுழற்சியை இடைமறித்து

இரவு பகல் இடமாற்றிய பெண் எவளோ

தான் செல்லும் பாதை மறந்து

தடம்மாறி புவி வந்த தேவலோக வாசியோ

போற்றும் மங்கையின் தனிப்பெயர் யாதோ

கண்டறிந்த தேவர்கள் காதில் கூரிய

மந்திரம் என் காதலியின் பெயர்தானோ!!!

10,000 light years to earth | Anshika Gupta

Once my teacher told me

10,000 light years past us

Somewhere

The universe still doesn’t exist

And with every step forward

it re-lives

it’s birth

again and again

Somewhere a little closer

A mother is singing her son

And a little closer

He has a daughter of his own

And in some place closer still

He breathes his last breath,

His life

Remembered forever

And when a broken lover

Searches for old letters which she cannot find

Somewhere further away,

She is still reading them for the first time,

Living, breathing, dying and dreaming

Over and over

And every love story is forever

Etched in beams of light

And when tragedy follows

Each lover covers his own

Shrouded in memories and predictions

Of a future

That has gone and is yet to come

Across words and collisions

Existing.