you still A to my T on a complementary base pair, thats how I remember it for the first time (A-T), now (it) stay with me for lifetime, pathetic I know-Tarana Khan

1. smashing those keys of harmonium in rhythm and your nails always painted differently

humid morning,

sweaty bodies 6inches away each other,

sweat smell mixed with gummy sap of oleanders,

mismash of vibrato,

yet i still manage to steal a glance of your concentrated eyes and a crease between your brows, i swear it suits with your small glasses like a top-notch-perfect-celebrity knows how to pull their strings of attraction. and the next thing I found myself copying you like a stupid kid i was. will i ever manage to look flawless too in someone eyes (maybe yours) like you are in mine?

we are two different pendulums, swinging on two different oscillation. our frequencies never matches.

our frequencies somewhat like in a discrete series not too far, not too unpredictable. unfortunately the absence of homogeneity, a whole gap, an irregularty.

2.blues in air,

reds on ground,

love (written) with yellows on grass,

purple over their cheeks.

colors brutality and enthusiasm visibility dancing on their lips, on their hips, holding onto their tight grips.

80s songs,

Kaleidoscopic tunes causing elastic bodies vibrating non-chalantaly yet fiercely.

every move communicating to other soul, then there is stereo vibration between us and the next moment you were running to approach me in attempt to smear me like all those colorful animals were humming under your beat.

a smile so frail, words so soft "how you've not gotten any point of colors? i shouldn't let you go clean. i will put my colors on you. its a festival of colors don't be shy on this day"

you should have seen your face in my eyes. was i not a clear mirror to reflect you or was i just transparent ?

oh! darling i wish and i wonder if only you knew about my sins.

3.i will store your rough diaries,

i will store your paintings,

i will store your remnants,

i will create your mementos.

this way no one could ever pull you away from my memories.

it will always remind me of your flat accent, your big-doe-eyes, your thin lips, your round chin, your thick smooth hairs, your almond skin, your commisure smile and I shall reminisce all those somethings that were never between us.

and maybe when time will arrive, i will say my bon voyage too.

you touch my cheeks:

electric shocks,

drum beats,

static palms,

so what could I do when God gave me

only one chance?

should I suppose to trip or make a grip? for when

he gives and he takes and I fear upon your lips on mine, your hands on mine, your body on mine

your breath arousing mine and the expiry of your existence into mine.

I had seen people:

loving and leaving,

growing and falling,

laughing & weeping.

I had seen parasites killing their hosts too rarely

and we are rare.

4.all this is. what? what it is?

its havoc,

natural disaster,

wildfire the blaze is still active from inferno.

its like arctic melting three times faster than ever.

i am tired describing you in metaphors.

i am tired relating you to flowers.

i am tired in between similes.

i am tired thinking you in analytics in biostatistics.

i am tired of our relationship.

i am tired of me and you and us.

believe me i am only tired not giving up even if it will cost loosing something so–

to hell with my reality,

and to hell with my sanity- insanity is the fruit of adam and eve's tounge buds.

Every Dead Thing | Akshaya Pawaskar

Every dead thing is in need

of more mourning,

a dream, a lover, your old self, the past,

all defunct, yet alive in numerous ways.

The Animate, the inanimate

still haunting us, still warm in our thoughts

and cold in the earth and time.

A non-existence, a void that needs

to be filled with wreaths,

memories, regrets, silences

words left unsaid, love left unprofessed

chances not taken,

afraid to begin with or

merely once failed.

Every death a reminder

of our own,

grief for a lost part of

our life, almost

one with our body.

Mourn them, lest too

quickly forgotten.

like I have,

the walls of my old house

the paints, the smells

I don’t remember them.

Slowly, slowly,

it fades into white anosmia,

once my home

now a dead body

that I didn’t take

time to mourn.

My Gaslit Chamber | Vasudha Padmanabhan

Ensnared by three knots

Abused and what not

Paraded as a slave

In submission I lay

Self-respect you flayed

Doubt corrodes my flesh

Mad, I should be deemed

Great it all seemed

Longed for a kind embrace

Only an iron hand remains

Demanding implicit obedience

Fuelled by subservience

Wreathed with

Lies, nuanced and decorated

Broken promises boundless

At a loss of words to say

I should walk out some day

When I tried leaving

You threatened to kill yourself

You used our child as a pawn

You fell to the ground

Hands on your chest

Was I too naïve to realise

I am part of this sick game?

Why do I do this again?

Because I have so much at stake

Knitting layers

of treacherous nightmare

Spinning cobwebs

of psychological warfare

Your meticulous art beats a matryoshka doll

Deceiving strokes converge like a kaleidoscope

No one believes me

The world thinks you are a saint

Every time you fight

You dupe me with sleight

Yet again I succumb

And let you entrap me

Loser I am

For believing you will change

This shameful person I have become

Makes me feel loathsome

I have lost my identity, rendered mute

Hoping one day I would be understood

You did make my life colourful

With bruises, beatings, black and blue

My daily constant being crimson hue

It adorns me generously

Paints me with disgust

For I too, was once loved

As you brew whirlpools of despair,

I plunge deeper into this hellish affair

I am trapped in a cage

To which I hold the key

I beg my malfunctional mind

To set me free

Too Much With Her - Shahina Begum

The moment it is born ,

You make sure - it is he or she,

And if it's she ,

You already start disliking ....

You have always asked her-

Her father's, brother's or husband's identity ,

This time ask her own ,

For she is tired of the same question.

And when you're about to marry her ,

You dig her past,

You forget your own ,

You prove to be the best detective !

If she lacks motherhood ,

You consider her to be a "failed woman" ,

If she gives birth to " daughters" ,

She has no honour at all !

When it comes to decision - making,

You forget her existence,

You overlook her ,

For you think she is just a homemaker!

You blame her -

Blame for the divorce,for the failed marriage ,

You think she is a devil ,

Oh ,she has never been the marrying kind !

If her husband dies,

You treat her as a "monster"

You think she is a witch,

For she has eaten him up!

In office ,when she gets promotion,

Or when her salary is increased,

You long to be a "hot bitch",

Because you consider her to be one!

In street, when she walks -

Walks alone- to office,to workplace,

You look at her like you have never seen one,

You become a voracious animal!

You don't consider her to be your " priority",

Coz it might hurt your superiority,

You don't offer her a helping hand ,

Shame,shame ,are you a henpecked husband?

She becomes your mere possession,

She becomes a mere product,

And when you're done,

She's just a slut!

You measure her,

Somewhere between love and lust,

At the end of the day,

You only quench your thirst!

You take her as an opportunity,

And never as your responsibility,

Uncle, cousin, stranger,

Or whoever you are!

You criticise her ,

For her shorts,for her nudity,

Hey,how about the two year old,

Or the grandma at seventy?

Will you do a favour?

Will you be her saviour?

Will you be her light?

Forget,forget,just clear your sight!

Pieces of misery | Navya Navely

I can still taste the ash on my tongue,

From the last time you burnt me with your kiss.

You grew lovesome flowers within my lungs,

But they only make my heart feel more abyss.

And each cut left on my skin by your touch,

Bleeds out in the winter, staining the snow crimson.

As my quivering voice pleas to not be adjudged,

You edge your knife towards my throat with dominion.

And now as my eyes shed tears of blood,

You smile from a distance and say, “Agony is real beauty”.

But your actions state that I’m still not loved...

Even when all I’m made of is fragmented pieces of misery.

Pinnacle- Arjun Das

A blur of light over cloud nine

caused hindrance to eyes

view from here is colourful and nice

clouds like mountain and deep blue sky

all are a picturesque sight.

But no, the mind yearned for more

as it was all the routine sights.

Yellow light flickered downhill,

games of mind unknown to heart

and the journey was set

for the glittering light.

Extolled and cheered the people nearby

as the conqueror descended

with spirit so high.

Just when the heart began to give high five,

the mind portrayed

meagre reflection of light.

Journey to the zenith seemed far away,

mind had given up to make the climb.

sheer will surpassed

and began the stride.

People nearby didn't cheer and bow

as all were just part of the whole

only to remind,

Never to stop till I reach the height.

She bleeds- Sadikul Islam

She woke up with pain,

In every inch of her body.

She found her raiments stained

By the blood,

That flowed through her innocent heart.

She was daunted by the discovery,

That she could bleed;

Even without an injury.

That she could bleed;

Without having to sink even an inch of a sword.

She was daunted,

That she was destined to fight this war.

A war, that will give her needless pain and scarless wounds.

These wounds will still bleed;

And she can never explain her stained seat.

Her ivory silk gown became untouchable,

In a span of every other month.

She affeared that her scarlet flow

Will defile the beauty of the sinless ivory clothe.

Because,

She was never taught that

Bleeding was a part of her growth.

Never felt, lust of forest | Dhruv Bansal

Never felt, lust of forest

Never feared, born in cage

Thunder from heaven

Revive my soul

To live for more days

Concrete grass below my hoof

Shiver from humanly desire

Still feel consumed drop

Unaware of days

Never saw sunrise

And humanly light fades

Remember my care on off

And neglected for days

Never saw my mother

But heard her scream in fence

Drop of my care, make me fade

Voice unheard but heard for days

Voice unheard but heard for days

Gardens from grave- Joshua Anglo

The irrevocable pain of losing a loved one

Always unseen and untold.

Shattering heart,

Enigma that never subsides.

We wish if we had a slightest clue or bit more time,

To express our love.

or Hold them close.

Voice is devoid of words

The tears that can’t hold back

Still we ceaselessly try

But get no answers to the why

Slowly with the passing time,

As peace starts to dwell

We learn getting better with the grief,

And with other emotions, it gets relief.

We live for them

Grateful for the sunrise,

To value life’s realm.

Grave is resting place

But in our hearts, is their true embrace

It’s not the end

But starting of an infinite bond

A soulful tie, an immortal calming song

Lets plant flowers at the grave

And cherish them each day.

To see them bloom,

With the memories that will kindle our way

Shade that will give us assurance

Fragrance, where smiles will stay

Upholding them in every season

Recalling,

It's neither a journey nor destination

But a heartfelt company

Making gardens from grave

The Maze | Santhanagopalan Vasudevan

They taught him how to walk, amidst whom he now did walk.

Those, since days he could remember, were always there to talk.

He learnt what a path was and learnt what a wall was.

But never what it was to be one’s own boss.

Many a type of wall there was, which he learnt to cross,

Some walls, he had to let them pass

Some walls, he had to break across

And some he could just walk into and pass

Which were just illusionary pieces of mass,

Deceiving enough even for the smarter class.

A few times he was taken through tunnels underground

Which was never taught formally as a means of moving around.

In fact, it was a subject never discussed

Maybe it was one of shame and disgust.

He failed to notice the voices around, slowly fade into a hollow

But soon realized there was none to walk along with or follow.

It finally struck his slow-grasping mind

That from the start he was entrapped in a maze,

Which the kith and kin of his kind

Had solved and made out of it, their ways.

Right now his head was clear of any thought

Except for only one clear thought

That he shall make use of all he was taught

And find the way out with all his heart.

A few more of his kind, he still managed to spot

But none felt as friendly as the vanished lot.

He set foot only where some old footprints were there

He believed that only they shall find him free air.

But he could never make out whose footprints they were

Those who found their way out at last

Or those who were just as equally lost.

Some routes felt like his wish was to be granted

Some others took him back to where he started.

What felt so much like progress yesterday

Sometimes felt useless just the next day.

He took to those tunnels when no one could see

But never knew what their other end would be

A brilliant short-cut if he was lucky,

A dead-end staring back, if he wasn’t to be.

How enormous was this whole bloody maze ?

What fraction of it had he covered in these days ?

How many routes had he so far misjudged ?

Were there just a few lanes left untouched ?

Sometimes in a fit of rage, he managed to climb atop a wall

To get a view of the maze’s end – but it seemed to not at all.

Was this what they call life crisis ?

Was death the only way out of this ?

Killing oneself would be a cowardly move

That he wasn’t one, he had to prove.

He paused for a moment, and realized that this maze

Was nothing but his own life – with all its craze.

There was nothing called the right way, nothing called the wrong.

It was only about moving along and along.

There is no map to help, there is no solution.

Neither an escape route, nor a destination.

திருமண காதல் | Priyanka Ramakumar

பிழைகள் நீங்கும் மாயம் கண்டோம்,

விழிகள் பகிரும் காதல் கண்டோம்,

வானின் நீளம் மறையும் தூரம்,

தேடும் கண்களின் பயணம் நீளும்.

--------------------

ஏக்கம் இருப்பினும் விலகும் கைகள்,

ஏந்தி பிடிக்கும் அவன் கண்ணீர் துளிகள்,

விளையாட்டு பெண் அவள் தந்தை கரம் விட,

தாய்மை உணர்ந்தாள் மணவாளன் கை பட.

--------------------

வீசும் காற்று வாசம் பிடித்திட,

நிலவின் ஒளியோ அழகை ரசித்திட,

விண்மீன் பார்த்து மகிழும் இருவர்,

இரவின் மடியில் இழைந்திடும் எதிர் முனைகள்.

Grocery List | Prerna Dewan

A box of Darjeeling tea and a beefsteak

sinking in the oasis of mashed potato

Peek their heads from an array of things

On the kitchen counter heaped.

Blessed be the grocery store

that falls under the shadow of my home.

A ray of light pierces through the wine bottle.

And the slender neck bleeds.

The instructions on the box merge with the crime.

Crimson Crime.

I read.

The way they taught us in school.

Letter for letter

Without feeling their bones.

To read.

Never weigh.

The a,b,c’s.

The History.

If you do, you shall seek.

If you seek so, shall you rise

above the letter, words and sentences

To form a question

Who am I?

-And there is no answer in chemistry

No formulae in Mathematics.

Non retractile like a canal of birth between a mother’s legs.

-To trace the origin of the origin.

Despite the knowledge,

I frolic in the fool’s garden.

I touch the bones, feel the ghosts of the words lurking underneath.

The water boils inside the rice cooker.

The imposter inside me churns.

Tea- does- not -go -with- beef -steak -and -curry.

And I dare not look at the luminous plastic beauty.

A lone brewing ceramic cup for its face.

A pretty box of tea.

Instead of all my mothers and sisters smiling,

while they pluck their grief, leaf by leaf.

The wisps of vapours that rise like their apparitions?

Effervescent like their aspirations.

Tea also suffers.

Perhaps.

The imposter syndrome.

At the school Assembly, nuns made us pray to Almighty in heaven.

At home, father lit a pyramid of sticks

Glazed with gasoline

To invoke the spirits of the ancestors. Our Gods.

Mother made us recite the Gayatri mantra.

The pandit talked of the creators of the universe

–Brahma, Vishnu, Maheshwara.

Lesson by lesson. History an eraser erases.

Civilisations group, regroup.

Languages conglomerate.

Maps reshape.

Through the calloused hands of God, they sift and slip

Like his diminishing breaths.

I am standing inside a split vein.

A war-paint of red.

Ready for lessons on red wine and beefsteak.

I swallow my newly acquired German-ness.

Thick creases of curry wurst and pommes on my tongue, drowning in

creamy mayonnaise.

The tiny grocery boxes undulate like cemeteries planted on a hill.

A bottle of ancestor’s wisdom

whittled from the pale foreign radishes

soak in mustard oil, Indian herbs and spices

sitting on the windowsill.

Nothing of which my son knows.

The summer breathes like a bloody tyrant.

on my neck,

on the oil- soaked bottle,

on the plastic wrapped tea leaves,

on the beefsteak.

Who is the imposter here?

The Gap- Ananta Dutta

It's no longer black and white,

The haves and have-nots.

It's more or less a wide spectrum,

Where everyone seeks more

Economy seeks a business class,

Cycle seeks a car,

Khichdi wants to become Risotto but,

The destitute seeks a morsel.

1000 cc seeks a sports car.

Older version seeks the newest smartphone,

2 BHK seeks a huge bungalow but,

The stray seeks a shed.

Degree wants a side hustle,

Job seeks a promotion plus a hike,

Saree wants a designer upgrade but,

The famished needs a shroud.

Amor Fabula | Kunal Goutam

A placid blanket of stars over

The only sail in the endless sea

Under this bejeweled cover

We dream – You and Me

A sudden swell of what’s within

Speak enamoured eyes to eyes

No straying thought of what had been

Nor of that which onward lies

On your lips a smile dances

As they part in exultation

Be I brave, take my chances

Lend words to this sensation

Oh, but what this silence nurtures

Nay, I shall break it not

But for those comely raptures

When we share a funny thought

Your hair, enchanting, flows

In the breeze that pushes the sail

Your face, inescapable glows

With all that beauty entails

Eyes meet eyes again and break

For fear of unripe confession

Braving up your hand I take

And spell my lovely profession

Abundant vows, unabashed plea

And finally love softens through

This starry night, this endless sea

Sailing together – Me and You

स्त्री म्हणजे काय ??- Rohini Kulkarni

रोज हसत, हसत आई, आई,

करून हैरान करणारी ओवी

आज उदास शांत पाऊलांनी आली,

आईला आज काहीतरी घडलय याची शंका आली ||१||

आई ओवीच्या खोलीत जाताच,

ओवी पाणावलेल्या डोळ्यांनी

खुर्चीत बसली होती,

आईने काय झाल विचारताच

चेहऱ्यावर प्रश्न व नजरेत भिती होती ||२||

आई रोज नवे प्रश्न, अनुभव, प्रसंगांनी

मी थकले आहे,

येईल तो दिवस सरत सरत नुसतीच पुढे चालले आहे. ||३||

वाईट नजरेच्या दोरीतून,

रोज फाशी मी घेते आहे

येणारा नवीन दिवस,

रोज अश्रुनी मावळत आहे. ||४||

खुप थकलेली, भयभीत झालेली

मी स्वतःला कमकुवत समजत आहे,

येणा-या संकटाला सामोरे जाण्याऐवजी

त्याच्या विचारानेच माघार घेत आहे. ||५||

आईने ओवीचे डोळे पुसले

व आरशासमोर उभ केल

म्हणाली,

स्त्री म्हणजे काय हे तुला सांगते ||६||

स्त्री ही चंद्रकिरणांसारखी शीतल, शांत तर कधी,

सूर्यकिरणांप्रमाणे प्रखर, अग्नी असते

अथांग सागराप्रमाणे मायेचा ओलावा देते

तर प्रसंगी दुर्गा काली बनून दुष्टांचा संहार करते ||७||

स्त्री हे एक कधीही न कोमेजणारे फुल आहे

त्याच प्रमाणे पर्वताला भेदणारी

एक तलवार देखील आहे ||८||

तसेच ओवी तुला

रातराणी जशी काळोखात दरवळत असते,

तसेच तूला कितीही बिकट परिस्थिती अली तरी

सकारात्मकतेचा सुगंधात दरवळायचे आहे

मनात विचारांचा कितीही कल्लोळ असला तरी

नदीप्रमाणे संथ तुला वाहायचे आहे ||९||

कधीही न विजणारी ज्योत

तुला बनायचं आहे,

वाटेत प्रकाश देणाऱ्या मशाली

सारखं ज्वलंत तुला जगायचं आहे ||१०||

आई म्हणाली सांग ओवी आता

तुला आरशात कशी ओवी दिसत आहे. ||११||

ओवी म्हणाली,

आई आता डोळयात पाणी नाही

तर चेहऱ्यावर धैर्याची चकाकी आहे,

मनात प्रश्न नसून

आत्मविश्वासाचे किरण आहे ||१२||

आभाळाला कडाडून सोडणारी विजेसारखी नजर आहे

खरंच आई,

अपार माया प्रेम वात्सल्य सहनशीलता

त्याग शौर्य चिकाटी शक्ती या सर्वांचा

संगम म्हणजेच स्त्री आहे ||१३||

The Rise of Icarus | Vijaya Kumar Bala SA

I do not fear death, father,

For like the birds I soared,

Heights that humans dream of,

I have seen the Gods eye to eye.

I do not fear death, father,

Even when my bones break,

My flesh be mangled, disfigured,

This fall is not the end of all.

I do not fear death, father,

For you were there right beside,

When I stood where only gods could,

You gave me waxed wings to win.

I do not fear death, father,

I do not fear this fall,

I do not fear the end of all,

I do not fear death at all.

What I fear, father, is the future,

For it seemed bleak, a moment ago,

Humans in chains made by Gods,

Slaves for all eternity to come.

What I fear, father, is the fall,

Not mine, but ours, humans,

Falling into the deep labyrinth,

Of willful captivity, for eternity.

What I fear, father, is our death,

A death without a legacy,

A death without freedom,

A death that is worse than mine.

I do fear death, father,

I fear the death of our pride,

I fear the death of our will,

I fear the death of ourselves.

You gave me wings, father,

So I could flee my prison,

So I could soar higher than ever,

So I could feel like a God.

I rose and rose up the sky,

Till all things looked so small,

And I asked myself, father,

Is that how they see us, the Gods?

I flapped my wings like a Pegasus,

I felt the wind on my face,

I felt the heat from the sun,

I felt a moment of pure bliss, father.

Father, I ask you what no son shall,

To give them all wings like mine,

Let them all fly as I, to the Sun,

Some may burn and fall as I.

But some shall reach God's abode,

And seize the throne from where

They took our freedom, our lives,

And bring it down to where I fall.

A Trembling Heart Finding Home.- Simran Narang

The night's silence, the familiar footfall,

Breeze caressing the skin,the ghostly tenderness,

Curls dance to the wind’s melody,

A rebellious mind embracing it’s feelings.

Letting go feels like falling off the cliff,

But how will I rise if I never fall?

I smile and smile,

Wishing that every flower

Needs to bloom,but like the thorns,

It stung every time,

Making me wonder,

Does loving others supposed to hurt this much?

So lost in the chores,

The chorus fades to a hum,

Everything a mundane task.

With gain and loss,

I lose the joy of it all.

For the world’s love

I lose myself.

With the bittersweet world,

From nothing we came,

Back to nothing we soar.

As black turns to grey,

The shine fades away.

The body meets the dust we once trod upon,

The soul meets the infinite blue hues, than,

Why do we nurture the body more than the soul?

As the sun sets,

The darkness I grew up with,

Becomes my only solace.

Without anyone's reflection,

I find freedom.

Drifting like the mist,

Without form or face.

Moon,my place,

Where dreams take flight.

Perhaps that's why we dream at night,

No voices to distract,

No sights to judge,

With no chains to bind me,

Desires and fear spark,

The essence of what touches the soul.

With trembling legs,

The steps I take to rise,

With no staircase in sight.

Pats on the back,

From my reflection in sight.

I smile at the younger me,

"We will get there, dear."

The storm ensues,

The cold bites me,

"Why are you crying?"

Apricity heals me,

In the name of Lily.

A stranger,with tiny feet,

and a little heart to give,

Despite cancer’s grip,

her smile defied.

At dawn, she admires the bird’s morning song,

Even though they may not make it to dusk.

At night,she gazes at the stars,

How they make a terrifying dark eternity mesmerizing.

Mind spellbound,

by the world’s dictates.

Chasing butterflies,

everywhere I roamed ,

except within, I see.

How many times I forgot to be still,

Where there was no standstill,

To savor the taste of coffee,

To feel the warmth of a caress.

To feel the thud of my heart racing,

With stranger's kind embrace.

Little by little,

The heart looks for love within,

The mind in melody with the home, I built.

A home, you may ask?

A home where no one can enter,

With plaster of smiles, to shatter,

For no longer am I starving for love,

For love is within me,

To shield me away from all the storms of the world.

A day at Grand Central | K. Rajasvini Singha

I saw a man on the train

The softness of his smile;

His kid in his arms;

In that moment I knew,

He was the happiest man alive.

Like the wind that whispers its secrets

I watched him while he stroked his son’s head,

And then I looked,

At the budding vulnerability of life itself,

With the whole world ahead of him

He knew of nothing else but his father’s arms

They were the warmest;

The kindest glow of the morning sun;

The immediate reassurance after a nightmare;

The softest sound of running streams;

And with the surety of that

He dropped his head and went back to sleep

The train arrived at their destination and they left

Suddenly the whole place seemed empty.

There was silence between crowded footsteps,

I think I sat there for hours.