Time to Spare - By Apurva Gaonkar

Today I found some time to spare

Like the Ghost Orchid, tall and fair

Enchanting enough to excite my heart

With looks so fragile, like the priciest art

But the truth it is, however rare

Oh what should I do in this time to spare!

So burdened with this time to spare

I look around in despair

Suddenly, the air feels light and calm,

And I notice my breaths, soothing like a balm

But my mind races to find

Something unique in kind

To be done in this time to spare.

So armed with this time to spare

I probably began to care

Recalling those once called friends

Now relations difficult to amend

Maybe it is best to be alone

And not find company in the phone

For retrospection may put me at ease

In this time to spare.

With this time to spare

I notice the shades the trees wear

The birds that hop around its branches

The butterflies that flutter their colors around

I see the majestic hills behind them

And the sun shining, a bright emblem

Descending over my simple troubles

Bursting them like fragile bubbles

I spend some valued moments with myself

In this time to spare.

My burning rage- Hrishikesh Jha

My burning rage

I know today my senses lie in a burial chamber but I want to write about organic farming in which my ancestors planted extra arms around my body to make me feel less lonely.

I want to mock the cat leaping at my grandma for food because the cowardly cat was prepared to die eight more times rather than face human loneliness.

But l get hunger attacks thinking about it and now l want to add finger shaped gingers at the opposite ends of my waist and dip it in a light flame

to get a permanent frame of someone holding me.

But in my every picture somehow, my cloth becomes a fragment of a loose hand in a loose pocket and they drop dead when l open the fridge wiping away my self-esteem with the freon gas.

I know the sky is a large enough sheet of insurance policy which covers tantrums of all destroyed weapons.

The ocean is a blue carpet to welcome all the stories about refugees.

But everytime l don't want to be the one talking about losses.

I don't want to be a religion which hunts scapegoats for bad weather.

I don't want to be the mill factory where fathers unrolled sheets and forgot to bring their limbs back with them.

I don't want to be a ventilator carrying dead people because once my mother told me we become what we think.

And I think if l could have drawn, l would have sketched this:

A park where each person has seven coupons to last for a week.

It will be traded like crypto currency to hug any stranger who has a laughter vaccine.

So I sit on a bench in the middle because l want to stretch hope on both sides.

A girl unwraps a wrapper in front of me and spills the toffee onto the grass.

She giggles and picks it up telling me about the 5-second rule.

I look helplessly at my page and finally decide to write nothing on it today because my skin is burning like a skinned animal gone mad in a butcher's nightmare.

Damn my ancestors, did they run away in search of my friends or for their own freedom?

Isn't freedom absence of a wrong touch?

I remember the last sunday when the preacher warned me l should watch less baseball and instead l must try to catch the devil inside me.

But he wasn't impressed with my confession in which l wanted to touch everyone who is awake.

So after the Church l visited a prison yard and a paddy field.

A shovel was leaning on an old tree and the prisoners sweated their guilt while washing their sins in the dirt.

Meanwhile a farmer stood with fears orbiting his hips and his waist churned into the ragged structure of a chewed sugarcane in front of my eyes.

While today a fireman in my street sped himself with a prayer to push the sky down.

I don't know why it happened but they all didn't get water in the right amount.

And no god came to pick up their mistakes under five seconds because everyone can't be saved at the same time.

I know l can't be an output of a successful rescue mission unless l forgive man-made disasters inside my building.

I have to convince myself that love is to cry for flowers and still be mad about bees.

And if l can't be saved, let me die and when l die, don't burn me because I'm afraid to fade away slowly, afraid to tremble in the open when the night closes in.

Afraid to be blown out birthday candles just to feel the light.

Now l want to cry for the crushed can lying near my toes.

It begs me to forgive the kicks of those school kids with torn sleeves before l return home.

And l know in the morning their mothers were so caught up decorating their blues they lost their way to the kitchen.

As l said l want to cry, but my body is sick.

And the chemist told me I shouldn't break down during high fever because paracetamols get confused that way.

Burning is a liquid rage and let me sail while l still breathe the universe.

So today l have to prefer anger because my therapist charges more when I'm sad.

And every alternate day l have to buy groceries, so l can't afford to be sad daily.

So after buying them and before peeling them, l will slam my door and save my room because my sister says she worries more when l don't slam my door.

And l will sit on my floor, sleep while listening to the ending song of Finding Nemo.

---------

CONNED- Madeeha Kazi

I had a dream

of the ending world

trees with fire

and flowing roads..

falling stars

and broken dreams

cause I didn't know our gods were different

different for you , different for me

different places , different sacred books

all we read , none taught hate

yet we do , watching people sigh

supreme being made us one

foolish folks divided the creator.

did people ruling the world

forget that there is an end

no you's , no ME's are going to stay

we will become they when we leave the play

the play of world we are acting in

holding our characters , but really missing mine

this just makes me wonder,

are we just wallowing all along?

or just write down made up stories

to tell , the truths we wish we could say out loud ..

tomorrow if I die

remember me and my lies

and don't wonder how , I have books filled with thoughts , read them aloud

so that you understand why

don't know if I meet a beauty or a beast

cause far I stare are some villains and their stories

well, no rich can deny , no poor can explain

loosing someone is just no game....

my gyration on this stage of play might

replete sometime

I can just fore warn you , all the arduous things in your way most time

I was once there too just by your side

you will look again , at that empty seat which was once mine !!

thank you

Shabana's House- Aaryan Raj

Among the crowded streets of the city

I'm a building old and frail,

the neon signs above me

cast a faint light on my tale.

I've got broken glass for windows— my weary blind eyes,

the shards of which have traces many

from an Indian sweat's drop

to a Nepalese tears from cries.

My rooms are painted bright at night,

to hide the gloom that grows

to lure the moths to come and feast

on the lives within me enclosed.

My stairs are stained with cracks and blood

like the fate of lives I keep,

and through these stairs I witness

a rich man's virtue slip.

While the "virtuous" man enters the gate

Shabana gets ready

to be served like meat on plate,

to earn something for living.

Her room's a false beauty

covering the pains and screams

she sits in front of the dusty mirror

working on her charm.

Her pale hands have a red shade nail polish,

and she wears a floral salwar

from earrings to anklet

she wears everything like an ideal woman.

She then locks her daughter in a room

to protect her pure heart

but the little girl is mature enough

to understand the misery about to start.

The "virtuous" man then enters the room,

his mind, filled with the life's woes,

like a storm ready to break

he starts removing her salwar's folds.

She lies still on the blue mattress,

the one her daughter likes,

while the "virtuous" man turns into a beast before her sight.

He rips her soul with sharp teeth,

and the room fills with her shrieks

her daughter bangs and vainly tries

to see if her mother's fine.

The brute uses her like she's a dead thing

breaking all the ornaments she wore

and countless times insults her, calling her a whore.

The irony is the brute himself is not more than a pimp

who every night visits a different me to quench his thirst in dim.

The fiend then leaves and walks out of the room,

Shabana sobs for a while thinking of her fate's doom.

She then unlocks her daughter and hugs her,

and stays silent on her scared questions

in this while Shabana gets another order

breaking her daughter's affection.

The horrors that my moist walls see

can give anyone a trauma,

this was just one Shabana

and sadly there are many like her in my drama.

Stripped and Reborn: Every Woman's Tale- Sarmistha Neogy

I was born a little ‘Girl’ to parents who caressed me with love and affection,

But I was stripped naked when society termed me the ‘Weaker Sex.’

I was born again when I imbibed education in the truest sense,

But I was stripped naked when society exclaimed, ‘Why educate her? She is a girl!'

I was born again the day I first bled,

But I was stripped naked when myths and taboos made me 'untouchable.'

I was born again when my body developed contours,

But I was stripped naked when my body was devoured by predators.

I was born again the day I got married,

But I was stripped naked when dowry, domestic violence, and marital rape tore me apart.

I was born again when I became a mother,

But I was stripped naked when society knew 'it' was a girl.

I was born again when I was regarded as the creator,

But I was stripped naked when I was held guilty for my vagina.

I was born again when I was worshiped as a deity,

But I was stripped naked when I faced everyday molestation.

I was born again when I learned to stand up against oppression,

But I was stripped naked when I was asked to keep mum.

Today as my soul departs and I rest in peace,

You can't strip me naked, as I am beyond your reach.

You can pull me down, tear me apart, make me naked,

I will keep rising every time, because I am a WOMAN... a Woman of strength

INFERTILE MOM- Sameeha Irshad

In quiet moments, tears softly flow

A heartache's tide , a river's woe.

Dreams once held,now distant and blurred.

A song unsung, a whispered word.

A cradle empty,longing so deep

Through silent nights,my secrets keep.

A path untaken,a journey unknown.

Yet strength within me has surely grown.

Oh,how I yearn for a tender embrace

To feel a heartbeat,to see a face

But in my sorrow,a flicker of light,

A love unyielding, burning bright.

I'll paint my hopes on the canvas of night,

With stars as my guide,I'll take flight.

Though I may grieve, my spirit mends,

In verses of sorrow,my heart transcends.

For within my words,my pain takes flight,

A catharsis of soul ,a beacon of light.

Infertile I may be,but a mother still,

With boundless love in heart's gentle thrill.

Whispers in shadow, questions unkind,

Society's gaze,a weight on my mind.

"Don't you have children"?they ask eyes piercing through,

As if my worths measured by what I can't do.

Blame in their glances, judgemental stares,

As if my mistakes are something I bears.

Unspoken accusations,words left unsaid,

A torrent of doubt upon my heart's thread.

Invisible scars from their well-intentioned words,

As if my pain is a script for their folks and herds.

"Why haven't you tried this"?they offer their fix,

As if their solution could heal wound so deep.

I'm more than a question, a puzzle to solve,

My worth as a woman can't merely revolve,

Around motherhood promise,a path not my own,

Yet I should stand with resilience,my strength brightly shown.

Invisible battles, a war within me,

A quest for acceptance,to set my heart free

I'll rise above judgements,their doubts I'll defy.

Journey is mine,and with purpose I'll fly.

In dreams we meet,my precious one,

A love eternal,never undone.

I'll dream of you untill my last breath,

In dreams,I hold you close,no death.

Tiny fingers, a touch so dear

Whispered lullabies,soft and clear,

A bond unbroken,forever we keep

In dreams we meet , while stars softly weep.

But still ... Infertile I am.

Broken and beautiful -Sanika Aradhye.

Broken but beautiful.....

Beautiful things have dents and scratches too,

One day we will accept what we already knew,

Going through phases of emptiness to feel full again,

It feels like finding peace in the sound of rain......

Bruised Hollow got the courage to fly with broken wings,

It's like the beauty of a rose with a thorn that stings,

The heart grows like a flower that can still grow after a forest fire,

Life feels like a myth where happiness is just a desire........

Every emotion is hidden in that graceful smile,

When it's about to get healed it opens up a whole new file,

Being blamed without any mistakes feels like our existence is a curse,

When it comes to trusting somebody that makes it even worse.........

Saying goodbye to all this even if our heart wants to hold on,

And experiencing all the grief that makes us look upon,

Honest feelings and bad timings made it more painful,

But it will always end up being broken but beautiful.........

"Take Me Back......!"- Aparna Sarkar

The world of certainty ended and

so many people seemed to know why!

It's getting harder to remember what it felt like,

Before my mind could apprehend,

things traded in the blink of an eye !!

One moment I was a happy child with a wandering soul,

And the next, I am oscillating between Hysteria and Calm

Emotions.....I am failing to control !!

I don't know when and why did I grow up so fast?

The " Unlimited Horizon " I clung to, is slipping away,

Midlife is all about scattered friendships filled with compassionate dismay !!

Take Me Back ! Take Me Back to when I used to

inventory and trade for candies with friends,

Growing up is more of losing childhood fantasies

to keep up with trends!!

Once used to be a buzzing bee,

Now I find myself inaudible amidst the crowd !

How did I become so nonchalant, while scuffling to be loud !!

As life unfolds with it's brutal swiftness,

And uncertainty confronts " The Spring " ,

Take me back to the era where I could dance and sing !!

Can I learn 'How to let go?'

While flitting back and forth between now and where I used to be !

Take me back to when my heart was full and mind was free !!

I feel breathless with all the possibilities at times.....

Only if I could slow time to a pulse,

I would have collected a few more years !

Few more "doll houses", Many more "marble spheres " !!

While I long for restoration,

I cannot cling on to my sorrow !

That's life......" There was a before, There will be a tomorrow " !!

But if you ever decide to step into my brain,

You will find me making paper boats, standing drenched in the rain !

Take Me Back, Take Me Back !!

mother taught me- Rajeev Anand Kushwah

mother taught me

to love beyond boundaries.

the funny thing is,

she never taught me.

I almost picked up everything,

by myself,

everyday,

step by step.

in this house

marriage was just an alliance

two people providing for children.

she gave me everything,

her parents could never.

mother taught me

cooking the perfect meal,

welcoming people in our home,

and our heart.

taking care,

of the little inconveniences,

for others’ comfort.

mother taught me

growing,

amidst the traumas.

nourishing others,

after the day’s over.

mother taught me

being fierce,

standing firm on your ground.

facing the storm,

the aftershocks.

but

she did not teach me any of it,

it was just for her daughters.

and I,

I just happened

to pick it up.

I still remember

the stories,

her unfulfilled dreams.

she expects me,

to fulfil father’s dreams.

I still remember

when no one read her mind,

nor did she speak.

the elders announced,

the voices of men suffice.

I still remember

as a little boy,

my sisters as little girls

watering the plants,

never knowing where to stop.

as an adult,

I keep loving people,

still

not knowing how to stop.

through her marriage

mother taught me

sometimes

love fails us.

as an adult,

I don’t understand

“what to do when we fail love?”

she always told me

"Rajeev...always be a good man!"

as an adult,

I wonder

“why do good people always make the worst mistakes?”

I still remember

screams,

silenced and otherwise.

midnight fights

in which she never fought for herself,

but for us,

our safety.

mother taught me

to never give up.

but then,

she never did,

because,

I picked it up.

now

I’m twenty-two,

inferring life,

hanging by a thread.

“I feel like a woman,

like my mother”

I keep loving,

everyone,

I get along with

filling

absence.

I'm her,

in other ways

like my love,

for you

unconditional.

her condition

loved others,

never herself.

my lovers say

“we love the way you love”

and then,

leave.

mother

never left,

neither us

nor herself

from whatever,

the patriarchy made of her.

“I care the same way for you,

the way she cared for me”

hell!

you even said once

“you’re just like my mother”

by learning,

what wasn’t meant for me,

she's making

a weak man.

who’ll never love himself,

she did make one.

but then,

she did not,

because,

I picked it up.

I was never close to her,

nor that I’m now.

she’s just a mother

who loves her son,

unconditionally

like all mothers.

I’m the son

who’ll only be

a disgrace.

because,

I’m queer.

I wish,

she could have,

loved herself.

I wish,

she could have,

learned

a man as a partner,

isn’t everything.

I wish,

she could have,

known

after loving everyone,

she’d still

be alone.

I wish,

she could have

been herself,

a little more,

been on her own.

I wish,

there was

more happiness,

than trade-offs,

more care,

than sacrifices,

more love,

than grief.

maybe,

I would have -

loved myself,

a little more.

maybe,

I would have

learned

to be on my own.

maybe,

I would not be

over-loving everyone,

making them,

love me

a little more.

maybe,

I would know

a companion,

isn’t everything.

maybe,

I wouldn’t be repenting

from everything!

I wish

mother loved herself,

a little more.

I wish

mother never taught her

son

that.

I’d have

picked that up.

Demolished Nature- Ojsee Kamboj

The lush green grass

And ocean emerald blue

Pretend this Earth

A shiny hue.

But they are perilous

Need to be redeem and sanctify.

Beneath the blue

In tranquil and green

The sea-maiden dive

In a blissful mood.

But it's toxic

Must be diluted with elixir.

The wind plays harp

And the birds take notes

Each one know their part

To the very last.

But they are quite harsh and extinct

Ought to be purified and shielded.

Clouds became ethereal

When mountains touch heights

They let them reach

Beyond their estimates.

But they are in vile

Both should get out of hock.

याद - Divya Patel

पहुंच गई उस मंजिल पर , जिस पर कोई ठिकाना नहीं था ।

सोचा तो हमने बहुत , मगर वापिस नहीं आना था ।

याद आई उसकी जो मुझसे , एहतराम किया करता था।

कद्र थी मुझे उसकी क्योंकि कभी न कभी मुझे उससे दूर जाना ही था।

दिल कहता था मोहब्बत करो , मन कहता था दूर रहो,

गुम सी हो गई थी उस दुनिया में क्योंकि वापिस वहीं आना था।

ऐसा नहीं है कि जरा भी इश्क नहीं था मुझे ,

वरना हमें कहां किसी के बारे में इतना सोचना था।

मैं थी अपनी ख्वाबों में सोचने वाली,

और वो अपने ख्वाबों में लाने वाला था।

आखिर आज याद आ ही गई उसकी ,

जिसे कभी मुझे अपने सपनों में सजाना था।।

धन्यवाद ,😊

You would never know- Janani Mahalakshmi

Oh, my wish to experience sole and true love,

You would never know;

To not let me dangle and hold me above,

You would never know;

To feel stability and peace as a dove,

You would never know;

A deal of let me claim and label to wove,

You would never know;

And in all this, my fear is

I might never get to know too!!

Am I yours, new city? - Arundhati Tyagi

Oh new city,

how do you manage

to have a hold on me?

Every essence of your being works tirelessly to gain my faith,

always in glee.

You choke me at times,

I have to run back home.

And then, you gasp for a last breath

pulling me back so that

you don't turn to stone.

Then I watch, you get back

on your feet;

all through the seasons

at lightening speed.

Why push me away?

When I'm all you need to be your best?

Do you perhaps test if my absence

will ever in peace, let you rest?

I wonder how am I a part of you

when you let me go but I come back.

Such love for a girl from another city,

or was I always yours since eternity?

Match box - Aishwarya Kayande

There's something.

Something inside which is burning.

Like something is trying to runaway.

Like all the organs are in a state of alarm.

Like there's forest fire.

It is only to spread; it is not ebbing any time soon.

Like there's running.

You are running, even faster.

But from the inside.

From the gut.

You feel like everything inside is going to come out if you even breathe.

It is heavy. Very heavy.

You feel your back is done with the burden.

Like there's something perennially flowing.

Like some lava. Like something very hot.

Like you have seen something so terrible that you want to cover your face.

But your face is still visible.

That visibility you want to avoid.

Is the burn you want to hide?

Is it the face?

You want to stop the run. You sweat, profusely. Not an ounce of actually running. Not even an ounce. Legs shiver. Heart quivers.

Oh mediate then.

Calm down then.

Why don't you?

What is it?

Work?

Home?

Things are happening your way.

What do you want?

You aren't expected to run. No.

Walk and come a mile.

Fast.

Ohkay. Yes then. Faster.

But no.

It is inside.

Inside.

It is not a marathon, it is not a race.

It is not even a fitness challenge, but you are running.

Where?

You don't know.

You try to find out.

At times, the burning causes a lot of pain, like the pain won't subside.

Like it is flowing.

Like if you touch, you will burn.

You will be Ashes, the next moment.

It is like you are watering the plants, you want it to grow.

Grow like immediately.

Like now.

Like now now.

Like now is the only time.

Where is this, inside.

Inside, everything.

Out, tears.

Out, pain.

Back ache.

A headache.

A drowsiness.

A race, nowhere to go.

Nowhere, dunno. Everything means a lot. A lot of everything.

There's a match box.

There's no fire.

Match box, unlit matches.

Rainy days in the hills- Pyngrope Phawa

The clouds retune like an orchestra,

through the endless sky of Meghalaya.

The pregnant clouds were shaped with hope,

The lightning strikes harshly,

The thunder roars loudly.

The rain loves the 'land of clouds '.

Creating a rhythm

on the Assam-type homes of the Khasi folk.

Away from the city are the roaring waterfalls of Cherra,

Falling like tears along the cheeks of mother nature.

The rivers and streams running along like highways

Carries everything that blocks its way.

The trees and flowers are dancing

under the shade of trees, the birds flip their wings.

The hills turn green once again,

Kissing the fog, the mist, and the rain.

Most people love rainy days;

Music in their heart replays,

After a long, dry and cold winter

Their heart now dance with the flowers.

There are people who hate rainy days;

It blows their candles away,

They are scared of thunder,

Tons of weight on their shoulder.

Rain in these hills is the great gift,

But still for some it's a curse.

When humans do not value the gift

It became a curse.

Oh rain oh gain,

Oh rain oh pain!.

Encapsulated- Priyesh Vasudevan

Encapsulated

Standing among the nature’s fury

I too was impuissant from an injury

With darkness splodged in the path

No one knows what’s aftermath

Laceration is too deep to cover

Hope is the only way to recover,

No evil force can ever maim quiddity

Not even touch the essence of felicity

Lord, give me the strength to stand

To drink this perilous potion and withstand

Another day will surge from the depth

To look into the eyes of death

With every step that feels thin

Nature is all, and we, the dust within

Still as it teaches lessons with surprises

With every dawn, a new hope arises

Paradigm of my Destiny -Afza Kulsum

The Pardigm of my Destiny

I realized the paradigm of my destiny when the sky turned deep orange.

The sunset, the waves, the breeze and my curly hair were all I knew.

The waves swaying in my mind and the waves of the sea seemed to relate

Just like the colors violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange and red.

Oh! Did I just mention the rainbow?

Cause I can now see a beautiful spectrum amidst the tangelo.

My eyes were awestruck and my jaws wide open when I realized the paradigm of my destiny

The earth so beautiful and my freedom yelling echoed ecstasy

My heart so warm although the space is a freezing melody.

My arms flying like a bird’s remedy

And my mind calm like a psychological therapy

Will I ever want to go back to where I came from?

Not now, not ever.

I realized the paradigm of my destiny when my apocalypse ruined the good time

But time favored me into my chime

Something that I love to do

Somewhere that I admire the view

Surfing the battle against my own rattle.

Among the essence of beauty, fighting my sheer insanity.

The strength of my core, the enigma of my roar, my fancy to explore and my aim to reach the shore

They do not die!

They do not die, cause my core holds all the pressure on that surfboard.

The pressure of life, the pressure of my carte blanche and the pressure of people uncovered.

I realized the paradigm of my destiny when the realm of existence would envy me but the ‘Past Young ME’ would be proud of me.

I see you with my spiral eye just like you see me through the painting and sigh!

जिंदगी की सीख- Chirag Sahu

ज़िंदगी ने कुछ ऐसा सिखाया कि दौड़ना आ गया ,

अन्दर के दर्द को छुपाकर हसी ओढ़ना आ गया

किसी ने कहा उसे भूल जाना ही मुनासिब है,

मिले बिना ही लोगों को छोड़ना आ गया

कुछ बद-हवा सी छाई थी घर आँगन में भी,

ख़्वाबों के रास्तों को मोड़ना आ गया

प्यार कभी चाँद था नूर-ए-आफ़ताब में ओझल हुआ,

तारे हमें, उन्हें दिल को, तोड़ना आ गया

दिल इतना कमज़ोर तो नहीं कि टूटता ही जाये,

टूटा जो कई बार तो जोड़ना आ गया

Pause- Fathima Amana

Everything stopped

Everyone stopped

The world itself

The life as we knew

Came to a standstill

It was a blip

It was chaotic

It was pure hectic

But that doesn't mean

we stopped living

We stopped breathing

No

We went on

With our lives

For some it was the most difficult

For some it was the time of their lives

Some enjoyed

Some cried

But everyone went through this

Period of halt

Thinking it was their fault

It was a period of stillness

Which we had to witness

With the ongoing illness

Praying everyday for wellness

Praying we don't fall into this sickness

This is how it was

As Our life paused .

I would tell him, when I meet him- Amaara Sha

I would tell him, how I found about his existence,

How suddenly one day I fell for him, in spite of the distance.

Distance not just by boundaries but also by personality,

Both are Leo's of same week, is the only similarity.

I would tell him how I want to talk to him and become his friend,

How I want to listen about his day from start to end.

I want to confide in him, with all my secrets and feel alive.

Alive, like how he is while he scuba dives.

I would tell him how I want him to talk to me,

How I want him to hold me tight, beside the sea.

I want him to make me part of his life, travel, have everlasting fun,

I want him to trust me with all his secrets, make me his special one.

If I ever meet him, would I be able to tell him all this?

How will I look him in the eye and tell him I like him.

How would he react, would he show any appreciation?

Wouldn't it just be easier if he understood it all, without any conversation.

I fell for him first; does it matter if he falls for me harder?

Would it bring him close or take him away farther.

How would I tell him all this, I would never be able to belong in his world,

He’s just going to remain a crush, as nothing else is possible.