ART-SIZED LOVE (For Amma, Satyawati Sharma, the strongest woman I know)- Akshita Sharma

I look for her

in the smallest bites of kachori

browned in mustard oil

that tensely bubbles through and through

splaterring little drops in every corner

as if she were sprinkling holy water

early in the morning

before the house awoke

into groggy footsteps and

heady frogmarches

I look for her

in the brass diyas

I light everyday

and remember how we

would huddle near her feet;

scaled by sugar in toffees

that came in dozens and scores for a paisa

and listen to her

recite the Chalisa

through the looking glass sliding along her nose

for hours together

I look for her

in the Harsingars

on my morning walks,

sprawling lazily----

bare on the topsoil,

casting around wet earth

as if tired from all

the waiting and wondering; and basking and being...

as though

with a patience that is disposable

I look for her

in the half- matted rangolis

at the doorstep,

personifying a love

and giving life to a faith that

somehow strung

together

hearts

as they sipped

ginger tea in the backyard

gossiping and dealing

and quaffing and reminiscing

I look for her

in Geetanjali by Rabindranath Thakur,

put on her reading glasses

so that every sky that he paints

is looked at right,

just the way she would have wanted

me to understand,

tucked tightly in her brown shawl

that smells like her

and that had once

tucked revolutions under its breath,

and I feel like her,

I feel like her,

when I stop looking for signs

for I feel like the art that speaks,

and the art that listens,

the art that is her.

Dear Uncle- V. Akshai Kumar

That missing tooth when you smile,

That never ending knee pain when you walk for a while ,

That personality of yours which made us all comfortable and secure,

That generosity of yours which couldn’t be measured with intensions so pure.

You would always complain how this was a cruel world ,

That how people did not care about others, 

And how we always had to fit into a mould.

You tried too hard to fit in 

In fact you gave your best.

You used to love chicken,

And three to four pm was always meant for rest.

You looked hefty with a huge ponch and a 

grey beard,

You felt how people who did not like cars were weird .

You drove like a mad man and drifted until the tyres became flat, 

Be it a competition or any kind of achievement you would be the first person to give me a pat.

I can still feel the heat of that rectangular shaped furnace,

And you lying still with a smile across you face.

As they pushed you inside and the shutter closed slowly, 

I thought of it as though you were waving a good bye one last time.

I prayed to god, in-fact we all did. 

And our prayers were simple ,

For you to comeback from the illness

and just be there as a person among us.

But it looks like we asked for too much.

Dear uncle,

We all miss you and I know you are still here as I try to write this down,

Maybe not as a person but as my guardian  angel to protect me whenever I fall down. 

The Fallen Flower- Manogna Boppudi

When the petals kept crumbling down,

I see a reflection of my own…

It’s not the first time I felt helpless,

But definitely the time I am going to be

lifeless…

The speed with which I am flying,

Leaving my loved ones crying…

I let my pain scream,

And wish it is all just a dream…

I promised them that this is not my goodbye,

But the truth said it’s a lie…

Into the clouds, I hover unfain,

Hoping to be their beautiful flower once again!

a letter never sent (but always known)- Anusha Ratna

Hey, mister

Today, I saw a girl cry

I saw rivers die, and I saw eyes shy

away from the cold gaze

of a predator looking for a prey

I also saw a man stretch his hands far and wide,

like a tree spreading its branches for shade and hide

but then his fingers curved and curved and curved

till they were closed down as fists

coming down as hail

and they hit her face

marred her skin and yet she stood unfazed

Hey mister

Today, I heard of a war

of a war not overseas

not in other countries

but right here,

with people on their knees,

begging and tongues tipped with pleas.

I also heard of a child,

who loved his parents,

he was shot in the head,

for being child of idealogical caste long dead.

His only fault, was that somebody, someone, somewhere long back

that his family was born to serve,

and that he got what he deserved.

Hey mister

Today, I saw a man

on his knees with his face in his hands

his cheeks were tracked with tears,

mourning the loss of his land,

where his ancestors once grew

cotton and honey,

now stood tall buildings,

small springs

trees bending

down to the will of men

with more money than its leaves

guns blazing

stars blinking

I also saw a solitary flower blooming

in the browns of factories

and industries belching

out smoke

where once lived families with households,

villages with home-folk

voices and thoughts outspoke

animals and the gentlefolk.

But now stood tunnels and buildings and houses,

which could now cloak

the forgotten stories of the kin-folk.

Hey mister,

Today I saw a water gushing,

down the taps of a little slum,

situated past the line, where comforts ended,

and started at the line,

where wills bended,

there was once a river,

which ran faster than our thoughts,

and roared louder than our petty bouts,

now the river had more filth,

than it has water,

it had turned into a memory,

soon to be forgotten

by everyone but the people,

who still stayed up all night,

had fought every fight,

burned their soul to just make it alright,

for their children sleeping in little cots,

made of sweat and blood and hopeful thoughts.

Hey mister,

Today, I saw a woman lay on her deathbed,

with her innocence snatched away,

by hands and eyes that strayed,

and then they let him get away,

so now his shoulders don’t sway

under blame

under shame

believing the pretence that her words didn’t matter much

than what was beneath her clothes.

so now her nightmares only have

Broad, ugly hands,

closed eyes,

sweltering thighs,

blood between her legs,

and scratches on her arms

pleas as she begs

a world shaded by a dark lens

and a defeated silence.

Today I also saw a boy love,

a girl who followed a different god

who had beliefs wide and broad

but no where those beliefs spoke of

a life where you shouldn’t love

someone who doesn’t follow the same saying,

in a world where love is the most natural thing,

next to laughter and joy,

and smile and pain

and loss and gain,

and rejuvenation and flame.

Grandma’s Cataract Eyes- Bhupali Deka

A City barely breathing

Degrading, in front of my eyesight,

A City once alive —

Breathing, in her cataract eyes.

Forming clouds of smoke

From towers of burning bricks,

And not the clouds that carries rain—

Those quench the thirst of seeds.

Snow field of jasmine flowers

Awakening sleeping bees,

Instead, mount of plastics —

Rotting jasmine seeds.

Jingling, twinkling bullock carts

Dripping paddy water,

Not the water from sewer lines —

Dirt, sludge and litter.

Once a narrow flimsy road

Two persons at a time,

Massive asphalt lanes now —

Swallowing lands fertile.

Once a narrow flimsy road

Nor a massive in need,

Leaving massive fertile land —

Blessing two meals to feed.

Embracing in her arms

Her heart palpitating,

Tear-soaked pillow —

Unsoaked scary uncertainties.

A home she desired for us

To rebirth and revive,

Fearing for our evil deeds,

We-be chastised,

A City once alive —

Breathing, in her cataract eyes.

THE THORN THEY LEFT!- Aditi Mohkar

Getting stuck

and choking until plucked,

this entire world paves us a path

that on the way to success,

gives a thorn bath.

Taking the ability of working by pain

and teaching us a way to be insane,

learning to pluck those hurdles by self

and keeping those causes doubt themselves.

No we never did harm to the tree

but harming us is just for free!

To see those aching for its satisfaction

and getting brave is our reaction.

None will see how we feel

and none will help us heal,

surrounding wants to take,

everything it never gave.

They call us mean

when the thorn is left unseen,

since it was meant to hurt

but we define it as a dirt.

We know its existence since the beginning

but now it is our inning!

getting harsh yet not sadist,

since no other way does exist.

One day will come those scars would heal,

those letting us down would make an appeal,

we will stand high on the same ground

but that staircase would be a thorn mount.

The comfort love- Saniya Singh

As I took a dip into my soul

I started to love every inch of me more

I stepped a step closer to the mirror just to be smitten

I found the love of my life

It was none other than me, myself and I.

Saniya

The Wolf- Spraha TS

The Wolf

When the serene village slumbers

And the last lullabies are sung.

When the grey mist arises

And night and day are one.

The wolf trots silently;

Hunting.

Lurking.

Searching.

Stalking.

He raises his neck to the bright full moon-

And sings his lonely song.

He hears the echoes; the call of the wild,

And is gone

(the fog covers its grey veil over the horizon

And stalks the villagers silently;

So cold.

So barren.

So empty.

So alone.

It spreads over the midnight cemetery

And whispers in the dawn.

It hears the wind, the leaves rustling,

And is gone)

YOU’RE MY HOME- Preethi Jones M

When the Universe began a connection not for the record

The distance acted not matter to me at that stage

As we were fiercely falling in love with each other

Distance does enhance a rival for the two of us

Digitally expressive we were affiliated via the internet

Our camcorder screens see the pain secret in our grins

And the enthusiasm expected together

Even if we were not together concerning the matter

Your sporadic visits to see me matters

The most currently

The very dawn observing you by my side

Is the happy impression on the realm

Dying to give each time and minute accompanying you

Vanishes the second, you speak me that you must leave

Reciprocation of “I miss you” sensed mutually

Every stage gone accompanying you keeps expected

Because we live for that importance

This routine concedes the possibility of change when we land in our happy scope

Seeking comfort in each one

This is not a basic one that I expect

Yet this is the voice of my soul

"A Virago, an Amazon"- Sneha Dubey

As I come from school, she opens the door, her eyes so puffy

Her trembling hands take my bag, is she beaten absurdly?

She smiles at me, her so usual reassuring smile...

Seven years and now, she's living like a hostile.

They lock me in, she screams and screams,

It's a game they tell, am aware of their schemes!

A mistake she does, they burn her wrist

She tries and tries, everything unnoticed

One year, I broke a glass, they threw my cars

She brought new, they burned her with cigars.

She's a burden, so is her daughter,

We are the toys, the answer to their anger!

A loss in their business, she gets tortured;

Begging for food, her life is imprisoned.

Sacrifices she make, for a dream of mine

She stands up for me, they break her spine!

A happy family for others, love and care they present,

Women they respect, that's such a mordant!

Red marks and blue marks, she calls it pretty makeup,

A bottle with a cross, she calls it cough syrup.

An advertisement I saw, the bottle kills the person

Scared am I, is she going for self destruction?

Hurriedly I rush, the bottle I seize,

Crying and embracing, I bring her to ease...

Her head on my lap, I see her scars,

They're not humans, these demon avatars!

Courage and pain, let's call the cops

I take the phone, her jaw drops!

She wipes her tears, her usual reassuring smile...

"Beta, I'm fine, this is my lifestyle"

Where shall we go? Whom shall we express?

Who will support us, when our own family is a mess!

Not our family, they are enemies,

Heart yet heartless, they snatch my candies.

I shriek and shriek, she holds my hands

Here he comes, understanding our plans.

His belt aimed at me, his eyes filled with rage,

She stands tall, a spark of courage!

Her hair he drags, I dial the number,

She pushes him, a kick in his bladder.

Freedom we have, them behind cellars

Months and years, a victory over monsters!

Quiet you remain, the more they suppress

Stand up for yourself, that's a success.

A daughter and a mother, unbreakable you are

A woman, a girl, you're a superstar !

Hands they lift, break them and be brave, And that's the message "Sneha" gave!

If she is a Goddess, she can be a lady don, Not weak but she's a Virago, she is an Amazon!

The Perseverance - Swapnil Bhardwaj

The Perseverance

He perspired hard to plough,

the winds weren't helping, the rains weren't coming,

but he persisted not to bow.

Trying to farm impossible in the red,

flexing, pushing in profuse sweat.

The Land bore shrubs and thorn,

as if saying to him – ‘please go away son, your efforts will not born’.

With limited means he worked expeditiously,

using the spade and his hands, he dug the red judiciously.

He buried the grain and aerated the red,

trying to gain the moisture.

Ploughing under the burning sun,

he wasn't afraid to manufacture.

Carrying his bread - he walked from far home,

punctual to fields at dawn, he ploughed till gloam.

Sitting under the boabab for rest and shelter,

his aim was to grow unimaginable from the loam.

Wrinkled face mother earth meant the drought was prevalent.

Hand on the forehead, he looked for hope.

Tired, helpless, worried for his family,

without bread and water in future, how would they cope?

He gradually became weak and ill,

his sight turned bleak, and future seemed still.

His steps were shaky, the skin turned dry,

he thought of the family and decided to try,

for he could not see the children suffer, nor let his cattle die.

Remembering wealthy days, he himself thought and tell,

"So what if I am not nabob, I will live well."

He plunged himself again in the barren,

buried the grain and aerated the red,

trying to gain the moisture.

Ploughing under the burning sun, gave his all in this adventure.

With lost hope he looked down the dried well,

returning from thirsty fields, he felt the moist smell.

stood around the red, stretching his hands far wide,

the Rain God listened, to the efforts he tried.

He sat under the boabab and watched the thirsty fields,

drinking and accepting gracefully, the Land realized he was a man of steel.

Speaking to the Rain, speaking to the Land - he thought and tell,

"so what if I am not nabob, I will live well."

आंठवा फेरा- Akash Shukla

एक घर होगा एक गाड़ी .

आँगन मे एक दुलारी .

आधा आधा जुड़ जाएँगे .

एक दुनिया नई बसाएँगे .

लेंगे हम चल कर साथ कदम .

दुख दर्द कर अग्नी मे भस्म .

एक खुशी भरा जीवन होगा .

सुख ज़्यादा दुख थोड़ा कम होगा .

कुछ साल चलेगा घर अपना .

तुम होगी इन सर आँखों पर .

फिर घड़ी मुश्किल की आएगी .

बात थोड़ी बिगड़ सी जाएगी .

हम दोनो मे झगड़े होंगे .

कुछ छोटे कुछ तगड़े होंगे .

हम दोनो रूठ ही जाएँगे .

पर बच्‍चे हमे मनाएँगे .

हम अपनी ग़लती मानेंगे .

मन मे कुछ और ही ठानेंगे .

जीवन है चलता जाएगा .

सूरज एक दिन ढल जाएगा .

तूफ़ान गरजता आएगा .

सुख की गठरी बिखराएगा .

मस्तिष्क मेरा बौराएगा .

तुम मुझ्को बात सूनाओगी .

बच्चों की नींद उड़ाओगी .

मैं चीज़ें घर भर फेकुंगा .

बच्चों को रोता देखूँगा .

अहंकार तुम्हें खा जाएगा .

क्रोध मुझमे आजायेगा .

सारे सपने हम तोड़ेंगे .

कस्में वादें सब छोड़ेंगे .

बच्चों के आँसू फूटेंगे .

वो बचपन से ही रूथेंगे .

मैं अपनी शान दिखाऊंगा .

मेरे उपकार गिनाऊंगा .

तुम अपनी लाज बचाओगी .

था उपकार ना फ़र्ज़ जताओगी .

वह प्रेम का धागा टूटेगा .

यह हाथ फिर तुमपर छूटेगा .

तुम भी आकर लड़ जाओगी .

हद छोड़ आगे बढ़ जाओगी .

बच्चे बिच में आएंगे .

चाहकर कुछ ना कर पाएंगे .

मर्दांगी मेरी जागेगी .

निर्दयता सर चढ़ नाचेगी .

तुम मुझको खूब ललकारोगी .

मैं दस तुम दो तो मारोगी .

मैं तुमको फिर धकेलूंगा .

अंदर के दुःख को झेलूंगा .

तुम घर से बाहर चल दोगी .

मेरी करनी का फल दोगी .

बच्चे तुमको जा रोकेंगे .

मेरे शब्द उनको टोकेंगे .

वोह डर कर हाथ छोड़ेंगे .

खुशियों से अपना मुह मोड़ेंगे .

मेरे मन में बहुत सा दुःख होगा .

पर बोलने के लिए न मुख होगा .

मैं तुमको याद करूँगा हर पल.

अहंकार लेगा मेरा मन छल .

मेरा घर अब न घर होगा .

एक चिड़िया होगी ना पर होगा .

दुःख की बदरी छायी होगी .

क्रोध की गहरी खाई होगी .

दो आंखे मुझको देखेंगी .

मेरे ज़ख्मों को सेकेंगी .

ना माँ का सुख दे पाउँगा .

बाप होना भी भूल जाऊंगा .

बच्चे बचपन को भूलेंगे .

उदासी की गोद में झूलेंगे .

कागज़ और एक कलम होगी .

हस्ताक्षर उसपर तुम दोगी .

रिस्ते नहीं परिवार भी टूटेंगे .

एक नहीं चार भाग्य फूटेंगे .

उम्र पूरी हो जाएगी .

बच्चों से दूरी हो जायेगी .

हम दोनों अलग मर जायेंगे .

पन्नों को दीमक खा जायेंगे .

मेरी प्राण प्रिये एक वादा दे .

दुःख ना सुख चाहे आधा दे .

सेहरा जब सज के आएगा .

जब मंत्र पढ़ा जायेगा .

एक फेरा हम ज्यादा लेंगे .

एक बात का हम वादा देंगे .

चाहे आये तूफ़ान कई .

हम देंगे साथ रहेंगे वहीं .

झगड़ों में कभी ना छूटेंगे .

इस कदर कभी ना रूठेंगे .

हम जिस्म दो, चार जान होंगे .

तुम पर अर्पण मेरे प्राण होंगे .

हम दोनों बिन दूजे के आधे है .

ये ज़िन्दगी से जुड़े वादे है .

बहुत कहा मैंने तुम जानती हो .

मुझको अच्छे से पहचानती हो .

इससे मान कर ना चलना एक रस्म .

ये आंठवा फेरा है एक कसम .

ये आंठवा फेरा है एक कसम

My Family's Teeth- Mridvi Khetan

Teeth.

What are these teeth?

Tantalizing

Teasing

Tormenting?

Pulled together

Not by accident

But pulled together

By taste

Sometimes pulled out by

The hope of tomorrow

They are treating me

These teeth

Staring at me

Their whites in the open

Are caressing my face

Their sharp canine

Cutting through my skin

They say my name means gentle

Oh! So gentle

That a tooth is enough to tear into my heart

And create its jaw in the vessel of my breath

Hers was a little yellow

Stained as if with the highlighter

She so often uses in her craft

His was more white

A reminder of the blankness he always felt

Being the last in the family

No more bullet points after his

The last comma

The last exclamation

Everyone’s teeth so beautifully centered around the table

The Crown of England

Stolen, but treasured

These smiles seem stolen by the treaty

The treaty we have made to stick by each other

A treaty not bound in any written code

But a treaty of the hearts

Made a million years ago

And still there in place

So we stick to it

A smile we give to it

Sometimes that smile

Just to abide by this code

But sometimes it’s more

It’s there for me

For once, I’ll believe they are there for me

Not by default but by intention

They are staring at me

Teeth pulled out

The whiteness, a submarine I’m riding in

Till it drowns

Those teeth ornamenting faces of the people I adore

Am I the food?

Is it for me?

I hope so

I want those teeth to myself

No

I don’t want 10 sets of teeth in this already tightened jaw

No

I don’t want another set of molars to crunch on that extra granola

No

Not another canine to quench the hunger for meat

The teeth I want

Aren’t physical in form

What I want is what’s behind

No

Not the bacteria stuck from the food they just ate

No

Not the retainers behind my dad’s face

What I want is what makes those teeth pull out

For once, not treaty

I remember it wasn’t war that one time

That one time, it was congregation

Communion

Community

Cohesion

Collage

A collage of the infinitesimal pieces that make us each individual

A unique collage of everyone’s canines

That come together to create a picture of collision

A collision of hearts

That make art

And I am drowned in that gallery

I am the centrepiece

Those teeth shining brightly at me

Admiring me for once

Lulling me for once

Looking at me for all my intricacy

For once

The cake I’m cutting, a symbol of how far I’ve come

Not in my journey as a human

But as an artist

And there they are

Teeth pulled out

Acknowledging my art

Better

Chewing on my art

And finally

Tasting it

How did it feel?

Passers-by- Samparna Pattnaik

Tall and majestic pines

followed by some small,

unnoticed ones,

all underlining the empty road

towards my new place.

A green stretch on both sides

left a grey strip out of its reach

just like my life between

a bunch of sunflowers, peonies

and sweetly prepared homes.

The one maintaining the road

really has a long way to go and

a bucket full of strength. But then again,

I wondered, what the road had done to deserve

the maintenance that only kept it

from grabbing the touch of the fine dust,

the dried leaves and someday maybe a tree or two.

Jokes on the helpless road,

jokes on the silly cleaner of the road,

jokes on the dried leaves and the fine dust and

on the trees and on greens and yellows and reds

that all see each other and maybe sometimes converse

but don’t ever meet the eye.

Perhaps the tree doesn’t deserve that friend,

the friend that seems distant even to heart.

Perhaps the road is just a flood,

a flood that forgot the warmth of gentle water

and in the sequence of that mayhap,

had accepted the barrenness of his skin.

I may have seen them today and

maybe we had all conversed our queries,

but I don’t quite recall as to how I was able to do so,

that too, with a tree, a long road having a long body

that makes me feel weird to think of as a living thing.

I wasn’t my mother who cared for her trees

more than her jewelery

nor was I the sweeper who

would always start his day with the statement,

“Let’s get you cleaned up, eh?”

But today, I felt like I wanted to listen

to the greyness of the road, to the emptiness of the tree

missing a friend away by a thin strip of road

and to the crunchy sun that was melting

at the end of the day when the sky got dimmer.

Since the heart only ever feels.

It doesn’t respond to the logic of deserve,

unworthiness and worthiness.

Since when the heart takes over,

we all know to an extent or more

that our head even obeys its wishes for our soul.

The scenery got quieter, but quieter didn’t mean lighter.

It was as if the scenery was painting a piece of my heart

and it was all too overwhelming to see it with two eyes,

hear it from both ends, smell the heartache of all the pieces

and walking away with no words

because of no answers.

And I too understood the pain and felt it under the skin

and just like how my spectator understood my pain and

felt helpless as they watched me fall,

I too felt a lifetime of helplessness

that couldn’t be escaped.

It is the dilemma of a spectator,

the paralyzed eyes of an observer

whos’ heart has frozen in the time of that moment.

In the end, we are all but passers-by,

We’re all the travelers of an empty road and also,

a road that empties and fills in as it wishes.

Commits of Her Nightly “Books”-Syona Rajput

Down unseen doors and locks.

Where her crimes, once stacked in shelves, now drop.

Hidden from men and their "lawful” mocks.

For them, it's a mere stroll to the shops.

Tip-toeing feet, twisting knobs.

Antics, of the books behind, she reads.

And follow her, the beasty throbs,

her toes unleash.

She deciphers the lock,

she forever finds sealed shut.

Entering her crime scene,

she half breathes, half sigh of relief.

Loosely holds her collection of crime,

in case she must flee.

Absorbing words from paper, as quick as

blood soaks, rugs or sheets.

Meanwhile,

For the journey back,

her toes in ice.

For the journey back,

she recites her alibi.

Dark eyes? Just ages glares.

Red feet? A life her belly wears.

Dusty hands? Perhaps cleaning somewhere.

With all words abandoned, on the pages,

she slips back, with silent success.

So she starts to weep,

at the thought of the toes,

she now breeds.

PAIN- AKHIL SEBASTIAN

PAIN

It's there in me.

It's there within me.

It's there in my reflection.

It's there in the way I reflect.

It's there in the way I bite my teeth.

It's there in my clenched fist.

It's there in my ignorance and my wisdom.

It's there in my aggression and my compassion.

It's there in my arrogance and my humility.

It's there in my scars that crawl all over my skin.

It's there in my lungs, flooded with smoke.

It's there in my paper-like flesh that covers my weak bones.

It's there in my heart, craving to carve out my art.

It's there somewhere,

Where I can only feel.

And not touch nor taste.

And not see nor hear.

And not smell nor breathe.

It's there in me, within me.

A constant companion.

He wakes up with me,

Or is he the one that wakes me up?

He wakes up with me,

Or was he awake all night?

At night when I go to sleep,

I wish he sleeps as well.

I know what it's like to be awake,

I hope he gets some sleep.

Somedays, I wake up to realise that he's not there.

So I carry on without him, knowing he'll catch up along the way.

His absence is freedom at first,

Like feeling free from the weight that burdens your shoulders.

But how long can I live without him?

Sometimes,

He hides somewhere near me or in me throughout the day.

And only shows up at night,

Like a surprise call on the Eve of remembrance.

And sometimes,

He waits till I am asleep.

Only to show up in my dreams that I could never decipher.

Sometimes,

He wouldn't show up for a long time.

And that's when I get worried.

What happened to him?

Is he dead?

Did I kill him?

What happened to me?

Am I dead?

Did he kill me?

And then I wait.

Patiently.

I hope that he'll come back and say hello.

The more he is away, the more I am lonely.

It's strange to realise he's all I've got.

I seek him in the lines in my palm.

I seek him through the lines in my poem.

I seek him in the eyes that I meet.

I seek him through the lies that I write.

I AM HERE BECAUSE I WANTED TO.

US- DHREETHI BISWAS

It's your smile

that makes my heart flutter,

It's your eyes

that makes my mind dream,

It's your voice

that makes mine stutter,

It's you and the desires for us

that makes me scream.

You raise my heartbeat

with your calmness,

You are the light to my darkness.

Your silence is my happy place,

With you, I can be my own face.

You made me believe

That being imperfect is perfection,

You made achieve

The answers to the impossible question.

You arouse the ocean waves inside me,

You arouse a silent storm inside me,

You arouse the lightening bolt inside me,

You arouse the Me inside Me.

I never fell for you,

I always bloomed because of you.

I never felt any different with you,

Cause you were too good to be true.

Before you, it was

Forever, not so true,

But after you

It's just, Forever is you

Love for you is like water,

Even if it vanishes from the Earth,

I can get it from heaven for that matter.

It is not a crush or a fling,

I'm done waiting for the bell to ring.

I think the perfect time has come,

For my desires for US to blossom.

Will it be the same- Arundoti Roy

Will it be the same

Now that you are gone?

Will you come to the door to greet me

Like you used to before?

Will your heart cry again

When I get hurt?

Will you smile again

If you see me peeking through the door?

Will it be the same

Now that you are gone?

Will you hold my hand tight

Like you used to before?

Will you stop my fall

When I stumble on this path that is life?

Will you be my anchor

When the tides are too high?

Will it be the same

Now that you are gone?

Will you still be there by my side

When the world is not?

Will you believe in me

When my judgement is cloudy and I doubt myself?

Will you wrap your arms around me

When everything goes down and the night is too scary?

Will it be the same

Now that you are gone?

Do you remember me

Like I do you?

Do you cry for me

Like I do for you?

Do you long to hold me in your arms

Like I do to be in yours?

This wound in my heart,

Gnashed so deep

That it keeps bleeding crimson,

The memories of you

Like alcohol being poured on the wound,

This pain, this hurt paralyzes me,

But I want it to keep bleeding yet,

Till the day you meet me on the other side

And hold me in your arms,

Then put your hand over my heart, and say-

"It's okay to be hurt".

Mother's Tale- Misbah Ibrahim

There lives a beautiful woman in my house,

where roses are shy off in front of her love.

She use to dress up herself not so good as she dress me smart.

She use to tie up her messy hairs in a bun and comes running from the kitchen with a charming face and a sweaty forehead to handover me a tiffin box.

Frome waking me up to dress me for for school, from combing my hairs to tieing my shoe lace she forgets to take a rest unless she sends me to the school.

Then with tired eyes she sits chanting for me to return home safe.

Even after dealing with the tired day,she is the most interested person who loves to listen my pity dumped story of the day. And that beautiful women is my 'Mother' who loves me unconditionally.

Moon also get shy and whispers the night,"Let's go back ,she is a mother and she is not going to sleep for her child".

_____Misbah Ibrahim

The carriage ride with my Armor of truth - Esther Simte

It started that evening at sunset,

The church bells toll, which was unstoppable.

As they burned down our churches and houses,

The unending war,began with a love not so true.

The enemies aren't outside but within troubles.

Still they stand proudly,not perceiving the end

Will be doomed,as they'll wander with pain

For slaughtering us,as their minds are full of rivalry.

Asking for peace,as they walked rallies

While they kept on attacking our villages,

Spreading falsified news,as they blamed us.

Oh God!Where are the truths?

I heard soulful wailing of the innocent fellows,

And grievous stories,with memories linger,adieu.

Burn's my heart into ashes along with the burning homes,

Summer comes and winter goes,all ending in smoke.

Still i tried to cover all my grieves

With shadow of the moon.

Determine to live as gentle as i could,

And wipe my tears away.

As i realised that i was blind-folded

On the carriage ride that they called life,

And the nearing storms won't kill my patience,

Yet i need to endure,the vicissitudes of life.

Hard to distinguish between the authenticity

And the erroneousness of this world.

So,i put on my Armor of truth,

To take a flight with my open wings of verity.