AN ODE TO TEARS- Joyeeta Biswas

Ever been to the shoreline at dawn?

With the wind blowing unsure of a separation or union-

Yet the waves give an undying promise to kiss the sand;

And the unadulterated beauty floods your vision.

But you claim “it’s the salt pricking the eye!"

Have you ever lost someone you loved?

When belying those unfulfilled promises becomes the hardest part,

Every song swells up your eyes as memories twist the knife stuck in your chest;

And the logical mind is at constant war with the unreasonable heart.

But you sniff away saying “ it’s the flu burning the eyes!”

Were you ever left homeless under a dark stormy sky?

When whirlwinds threaten your existence and lightening crashes without a care;

A helpless prayer springs out of those reddened eyes

And tomorrow seems doomed shrouded in ominous fear.

But you let the rain hide the tears and thunder drown the cries!

Did you ever feel the solace of being acknowledged?

After years of struggle, hopeless days, sleepless nights and self doubting debates ;

The moment finally arrives - recognised by the audience, understood by your people, heard by the universe;

And the unending interlude gives way to peaceful acceptance of fate.

But you fight to hold back the tears as your heart rejoices!

Where words fall short and emotions are overwhelming,

Whether trembling hands or sweaty feet, pursed lips or pounding chest;

Tears help to bridge the distance between breakpoint and survival -

Be the trough of failure or on glory's crest!

At your best or at your worst – they are your window to the world,

So let them flow, do not be ashamed, do not wipe or hide;

And the next time you wake up on a wet pillow,

Remember you made it till here, and own them with pride!

Those crystals convey your truth, they negotiate your sanity with stress -

Although through stained cheeks, heavy lashes or not an instagrammable smile;

But tears let you breathe, tears share your burden,

And tears are a sign that you are human, you are still alive!

Blood Stains- Sappho Anon

Nothing distinctive distinguishes our lineage.

There are no tangible heirlooms to honour and pass down

No folklore, no traditions, no silly anecdotes

No accounts of valiant men fighting the first war of independence

Or any subsequent ones, really

Emancipation is not a concept we're familiar with.

Well, there is one story

I'm blanking on the details;

I'm sure my mother could quote it verbatim

Ages ago, my grandmother's great-grandmother

Witnessed a bush catch fire and die, and thought no more of it—

She turned her back to a forest ablaze.

The forest was sacred; it unleashed something ungodly—

I've seen it with my own eyes

Mother considers it as something holy, still

All our forefathers have preserved it well—

Collective trauma, unfulfilled desires—

They've clutched it in their iron fist.

Moral policing, constant surveillance,

Preaching God's will incessantly.

Sanctioned asphyxiation is child's play, elementary

We're taught early; we're taught well.

No display of affection, complete indifference,

Cruelty begetting cruelty.

Our bodies know nothing about crescendo, diminuendo

Though mother was a singer once—before she was silenced—

Before the fumes from the fire took hold of her lungs

There is no music, it said

There is only monotone

There is no room for emotion.

Every room in the house is filled to the brim,

Flooding over with unwept tears.

Scattered around haphazardly, floating with no restraint,

Are shoes too big to fill, pearls too heavy to carry.

My sister doesn't see it that way

She handles things with grace.

I've been the black sheep, the anomaly,

The wet dog stinking up the house

Gouging and biting back,

Weeping, wailing, screams ricocheting off the walls

Swollen throat and severed hands

Scarlet screeches of agony.

But then, my darling, the guilt began to settle in.

Look— it makes itself at home right in my chest

It lingers; it festers like a gunshot wound

It turns my body into a cemetery,

Into a chamber for cryo-conservation,

I carry my aunt's sadness and echo my mother's beliefs.

The family curse reverberates in my bones—

A constant reminder of our roots—

You, too, will throw up dead flies yet chant the same prayers as your ancestors

Honey, I have spent the entirety of my life under my mother's roof,

Please believe me when I say this

There is no scope for resistance or revolution.

There are days, still,

When I want to take a chainsaw to the family tree,

Put an end to the supply of kerosene

Let the bushfire die with me

But I am my mother's daughter; you are mine

We're fools to expect an alternative ending.

Traces- Mansha

When someone leaves they leave their traces behind.

Hair strands in your clothes

Cigarette butts that were smoked together.

Half finished ones like the conversations you could never finish

Like there was always so much to say and always very little time.

When you left

The creases on my sheets kept reminding me of you

Your hair strands with the blue hair colour on them

Weird how it still hasn't washed off?

Don't worry, I don't hold on to my feelings anymore

We can force our minds not to think about each other still

But what do you do with these traces?

Do I throw out the cigarette butts?

You never lit them off fully, there was always a spark left behind, burning slowly to the end

I never stomped them off too because maybe I wanted to keep the spark? However slow it might get

I remember the day we decided to separate

Felt like two ships sinking together and no one could save them

There was a mutual understanding that we were both drowning but no one could save another

I hear you have found someone to stomp out your cigarettes fully now

I am not jealous,

Maybe a little?

How do you find someone so perfect to replace all the gaps we left out?

Maybe it is not about finding someone perfect

Maybe it is about being so imperfect together that they are the only person who could see through you

The other day, I saw a couple hug each other

And I remembered you used to say, if you hug someone tight enough you could squeeze out the sadness from them like we squeeze out the last ounce of toothpaste using all our strength to get the last bit out?

I used to laugh it off then, but I think I get it now

When you hug someone you tell them you care, that if they die someday, you'll be sad

I will leave this letter open ended because I never want to stomp out your cigarettes.

Sawdust- Apoorva Manohar

smear-laden in lifeless mud

slinging herself over the last bit of the ruthless saw

trrrrrrrm trrrrrrrrrrrm brrrrrrrm...clack

the machine, it screams so loud..

she flinches as it cuts through her

her gentle green eyes turn a dull grey

the long tresses caress her face

as she takes the fall

my heart sinks.

if you followed the twisting vines nigh the wound

you would see

the vines that came crashing through

meet the earth in its roots

it is where

she now plonks in blood

..and in the splattered mud

it is where life must happen in green

i muse out loud

raising a brow, she heaves a sigh

her gentle eyes concede silently

it won't be long, her parting glance says it..

standing aghast- clenching herself

thud!

a deathly silence deafens me

and a numb stupor rises and engulfs the sky

a dull fainting thump– thwack– it strikes again

the machine, it still screams so loud

trrrrrrrm... trrrrrrrrrrrm brrrrrrrm..rrrrrrrrrrrrrr....clack....

there’ are bits splattering on the earth

yet it roars on

the machine....

trrrrrrrm trrrrrrrrrrrm brrrrrrrm...clack

maybe it plucked the last root on earth?

....a loud scream echoes, the machine falls mute

at last

the scream lingers on yet so fresh in my drums

hanging in the air, heavy like a sumo wrestler

as I follow the scream, a lifeless void steeps up and enters my heart

Tangents of The Putrefying - Ankitha Raju

If Dying was an art in decline, I would pick it up,

But like everything else, I would do it with dread,

Fear, supple its derangement, I would want a cup,

Caramelised syrup of my blood, into your head,

I would inject, spirits of salts, to soothe you,

To see you turn into and onto the creature I have,

Become. I despise leaving, an alive, disturbed you,

It will spit you out, munching on you, keen to have,

Your eyes, your ears, your nose, then your tongue,

Unearthing your tongue off your abode, It will,

You will, on a pile of reeking structures that strung,

Once, deepest red melodies justly did overfill,

The streets of light and royal azalea. She would,

Write, despite the fight with the bright, white knight,

He would weep, weep beside the stone that would,

Hold his shining light, buried under the chasmic night.

“You, you killed my son”, she screams, screeching,

The desolate expanse of serenity isn’t innocent, she,

Did murder, blood on all her hands, she left hers dripping,

While a man of desperate passion leverages the intellectual,

Later dethroned and then provided an apology with, he,

Would live, his massacre outlives, both represented, graphical.

“They’re here, they are here”, I hear, and I try, I try,

To leap forward as they had yesterday asked me to,

But here they were, catching hold of me, of my cry,

Of my sister, not her mister, they would later hand us to,

The sweltering heat of life, the final act of it all,

But before it all, there I was, torn, scavenged upon,

And there she was, lifeless, torched with violence,

No, torched by meaningless hatred, here we lay on,

No one, to bear these petrified embraces, this violence,

Upon justice, spares the predator, we were not the prey,

But what was required for their continual corrupt prancing.

Yet then again, here I was, dicing my fingers, licking off me,

The pungent stench of who I truly had become, I was not,

I am not the culprit you make me out to be, tell them not me,

It is not me; it is not I, I promised him I would leave not,

A year without intending to send three words that are capable,

He told me so, he felt alright, the flowers I weave made him so,

Was he flattering me? Why? I wouldn’t want him be incapable,

But I painted him myself! I had seen him alright, I did, but go,

Go away, the bearings have hired themselves rigid, turgid even,

It wouldn’t budge, for, unlike this lover, they are never mistaken!

Not By Profession- Shilpa D

Not a psychologist by profession but I am a psychologist by action,” I said.

My daughter curiously asked, “How?”

I asked her, “What do psychologists do?”

She thoughtfully said, “Heal people towards mental wealth.”

“Impressive!” I said,

“I do the same! Strive towards mental wealth

For nation’s health.”

“Not an advocate by profession but I am an advocate by action,” I said.

My daughter queried, “How?”

I asked her, “What do advocates do?”

She further said, “Argue for the client in dispute.”

“I do, but not exactly as in the law suit,” I said,

“I help them debate in pursuit of not letting the truth dilute.”

“Not a counsellor by profession but I am a counsellor by action,” I said.

My daughter inquired, “How?”

I asked her, “What do counsellors do?”

She instantly said, “Guide you to choose what is right.”

“I do the same,” I said. “They are led towards the light

By choosing what’s right.”

“Not a life coach by profession but I am a life coach by action,” I said.

My daughter wilfully asked, “How?”

I asked her, “What do life coaches do?”

Enthusiastically she said, “Motivate people to soar high.”

I affirmed “Matchless is each one’s strength; I always say

& by make believing in themselves, self-motivated are they.”

“Not a stand-up comedian by profession but I am a stand-up comedian by action,” I said.

My daughter chuckled & asked, “How?”

I asked her, “What do stand-up comedians do?”

Amusingly she said, “They are hilarious till your stomach hurts.”

Through a hoot of laughter I said, “Not so much nuts!

But a little chuckles that effectively works.”

Radiantly said my daughter, “Mamma, so so much by action;

I now understand what it takes to be an inspiring teacher, by profession!”

Fatal Amour- Tavleen Kaur

I loved you,

unconditionally

just like a moth

wanders aimlessly towards the light.

Impetuously oblivious

of the fatal ramifications;

imprudently valiant,

yet naive.

I had no inkling

that I'm treading along the same path

of inevitable doom.

‘Twas when the dark spark

from the distant shore of doom

arrived,

I suddenly realised

the truth I was

desperately absconding from,

that sometimes,

love could be fatal

but, alas!

By the time I cognized

It was too late,

and I had already

suffered the same fate.

The SOB Story of my tastebuds- Aanya Verma

My poor tastebuds!

It always sees everyone eating exquisite food

But it feels like my tastebuds dont find it good

The aroma is too good to handle

But tasting the food becomes a scandle

Grass like food- asparagus, spinach

Scares me like an evil witch

Sight of a glass of milk

Gives me an irritating itch

When we travel to a foreign destination,

my tastebuds go on hunger for that duration.

My aim is to find even a single slice of pizza

To give me a sense of elation.

- Aanya, 11 years.

EYES- THE JOURNEY OF LOVE- Anjali Desai

Eyes, where we start our journey of love,

Two beautiful souls meeting at college.

On that first day, I made my love castle in my heart,

A place where only love and passion roam.

Eyes, two beautiful windows of emotions,

Filled with joy, depth, and tears.

In their depths, I found my soul,

In the language of eyes, what more can I say?

They held the promise of a future bright,

As we started on this romantic flight.

With each glance, a new chapter unfolds,

In the story of a boy, whose spirit never gets old.

So here we stand in two different cities,

But our eyes communicate daily.

For in your blue eyes, I’ve found my forever,

A beautiful love story that never can be ended.

Estranged- Spraha Tirumani Shivashankar

In a world of steel and stone I stay,

No longer certain of our future ahead

We once gazed into heaven’s skies

But to those heavens I now cry

howls of sorrow

the rivers of freedom no longer flow

And the deep trenches and hills stand still with fear

And the plains remain concrete as glass, as shadows grow

As the scent of humans linger near

Like a looming parasite

His spirit continues to run through the ancient streams,

His voice weaves into my land of dreams

I take his howl and make it my own

A whispered promise in nature’s tone:

Though separated our hearts remain entwined;

With no compasses, with no signs

I shall find you in the valleys deep

And in nature’s arms where our love shall be

the rivers of freedom gush with might

And the deep trenches and hills reach for the skies

And the open plains stretch beneath our feet

In the heart of this red earth, where we’re meant to be

Abandoned to time with unfinished stories.

Explaining Myself in a Forgotten Language- Shrey Salwan

Dear Ma,

Am I a stranger now?

Or has the stranger always been me?

We come from the same roots,

Yet I feel like a leaf about to detach,

Floating on a breeze you don't recognize.

Desire is not a sin—

After years of loving in a silence

That even words cannot penetrate,

I find myself sitting alone

At the foot of your bed,

Staring at the idols of gods you pray to.

Your hands, laden with years and prayers,

Fold into devotion for gods

Who never had to come out.

I whisper love in a tongue you've always known,

Yet today, it sounds foreign to you.

Do my confessions make you falter

In a language we used to share?

Dear Ma,

I still am the son

Whose first steps you cheered,

Whose scraped knees you healed.

I still need your love

In a language I haven't forgotten.

Are you willing to speak it,

Or have we lost our mother tongue?

A Woman's Worth - Tahlia Sebastian Karimpanal

Why do men believe they are superior?

That they go through more than we do

They don't know the struggles we face

Why do they pretend that everything is a first-place race?

If we go through something, they tell us they have it worse

Sometimes I believe being a woman is a curse

A female is always haunted by the stuff she hears

The tales of male both far and near

Innocence is like a fragile bloom

In a world where darkness looms

She walks the path with a wary in every stride

Scared of what the shadow hides

She hears things that hurt and takes it with grace

Hiding the truth of fear behind her face

Her voice, a whisper, choked by dread,

In that moment she wishes, she truly wishes, she was dead

The pictures that the magazines show us

As the pressure of society surrounds us

A cruel world shows us an unattainable dream

When we don't look like that, it makes us want to scream

The mirror becomes our biggest fear acting like a judge and jury

Casting shadows on our worth in a cruel fury

We don't realise that our beauty isn't skin deep, it's hidden in our soul

Our kindness and patience are truly what makes a woman whole.

अधूरी कहानी- Prateek Bahl

रास्ते भी एक थे दोनों के और मंज़िल भी एक थी।

ख्याल भी एक थे और ख्वाहिशें भी एक थीं।

मिलते थे जब अकेले में दोनों तो खूब बातें होती थीं।

और जो भीड़ में भी हों करीब तो नज़रें ज़ुबान होती थीं।

प्यार सच्चा था उनका और मोहब्बत भी पूरी थी।

पर शायद खुदा ने ये कहानी लिखी ही अधूरी थी।

इश्क़ तो सच्चा कर लिया पर हिम्मत कच्ची रह गयी।

समाज के बनाये रिवाज़ बौहत बड़े और खुदा की दी मोहब्बत छोटी रह गई।

न हो पाए वो एक ,

न हो पाए वो एक।

लेकिन अब भी मिल जाती हैं नज़रें बाजार की उस राह पे।

जहाँ से एक सड़क जाती है मंदिर को और दूसरी जाती है दरगाह पे।

Forlorn Fate- Anjilika Upadhyaya

Yesterday I heard them say that a war is about to rage

They are getting ready for a gunfight, standing on their borders looking out for prey

Truth is that no one is going to win and only inoperable scars would remain

The lives of the innocent will be sacrificed and yet a great victory will be declared

People cried for mercy, pointing them to the heavens above to stop before it is too late to contemplate

But ignoring the loud cries, their fierce eyes only wanted to take a futile revenge

Backed by the filthy rich, those ferocious faces awaited their feast

Those untamed men had in red included everyone on their list

Their senses were attuned only to the commands of the dealers of death

And their hands unashamedly took the lives of those who begged

The recipients of the horrible news lost in thoughts, stared at the sky with a blank face

People wished farewell to their loved ones amidst the terrible haste

Some kissed their children's forehead and some cried endless tears

While others were not ready of what was awaiting them next

Unafraid and wild young boy, the pride of his people

The one sent to get a sight of the enemy troop came running and stooping

And all got anxious of what he had to say

When alas! the boy fell on the ground shot in his back

Oh! what a sign of fate

There would remain nothing except to regret shouted one of the men

But the enemy troop had only one thing on their mind

And that was destruction of those who only wanted to live

Everyone started mourning accepting their death while children did not understand a word and stared at elders’ face

As the enemy troops were approaching nearer with every wink of an eye, they felt the ground trembling beneath their feet

As if destiny was awaiting the commands of the Almighty to grant its potion of eternity to those who would win

Grim Reaper cast a gloomy shadow over them with its sudden appearance and waited for the trapped souls to get freed

Suddenly silence followed and a place once filled with lively souls

Turned into a lifeless fatal scene with thousand words still echoing for help

Nothing except mourning, nothing but a tragic end

Years and years flew by,

But the crimson abandoned land never stopped reminding about its awful end

All The Hearts From You- Yasmin Parveen

All The Hearts From You

A heart a weekend

Filling me of you and your unbridled adoration for me was the only saviour

I've had it for a whole year

To keep me breathing at all.

Your hearts made my frail heart

Swell and burst overwhelmed by your unwavering devotion to me and

The promises you made to keep.

Your hearts gave me hope

In those moments of despair

As if the mere words could take form and beat for only me to be heard.

Your hearts were all I ever anticipated like a teenage girl.

And you'd say-

" It isn't foolish, my love because it's love. "

Last heart you sent was nothing like before.

You confessed your darkest fears of all.

And I cried over your heart for a long.

You were to come the next weekend and we would tie the knot to be together, forever.

The Day came and went by but

You were not in sight.

I kept looking at the door to swing by.

But the sound never came.

Next morning I heard on the radio

My heart clenched and imploded inside.

You were gone for good last night.

You aren't here, but you are here always, in my heart.

I kept all your hearts alive - in a jar.

Never cried on you when I opened your hearts.

Because it was you who always said -

" God forbid if it ever happens but

Darling, I want you to smile whenever you remember and think of me.

Becuase I couldn't bear that the tears in yout beautiful eyes were the result of my demise. "

They say we were tragic and I deny.

For all the hearts from you were always mine.

Mine.

Mine.

And forever and ever mine.

MORIBUND- Poonam Shukla

MORIBUND

Wrinkle Wrinkle little scar

Life ain’t melody, it’s a jar

I always yell, I almost cry

It seems to me that the end is nigh

This is my life. An ocean of woes

Only and only pricks not a single rose

Sadness to drink and sadness to dine

Not a single soul, whom I can call mine

I m just a creature who wants to evolve

In search of a substance in which woes can dissolve

My past isn’t black; it’s a big black hole

Killing me very slowly soon will suck my soul

The despair inside me has so outgrown

The only expense I could think is my own gravestone.

With everything to hide and nothing to pride

I am almost set for my last final ride.

We met and parted ways- Tanuja

We met and parted ways,

may be to meet once more one day.

In some other time and age,

maybe a different place.

Where the blooms will breathe deep,

or they may just crumple and go to sleep.

Or where the sun will wrinkle and freeze,

In the harsh winter breeze.

We met and parted ways,

may be to meet once more one day.

When the day may get some respite,

from its supersonic jet set life.

And when the time will take a pause,

and decide to sprawl on the green grass,

gazing upward at the night,

counting the stars in the sky.

We met and parted ways,

may be to meet once more one day.

it may just be one of our days,

with all the chaos that comes it’s way.

We may meet on that one day,

to bid au revoir once again..

चोरी - Sonu Yashraj

*चोरी*

म्यूजियम, बैंक या किसी शानदार पार्टी से

कड़ी सुरक्षा के बीच

हीरा चोरी की रोमांचक खबर

हर कोई सुनता है ठिठक कर

हर कालखण्ड में धूम

मची रहती है ऐसी फिल्मों की।

पर मैं चाहती हूँ

दुनिया की तमाम लाइब्रेरियों से

चोरी हों किताबें ।

गली के शोहदों के कारण

नही जा पा रही

शाम की लाइब्रेरी में

मंजुला, नीमा, अरुणिमा

चोरी की गयी कुछ किताबें

भिजवा दी जाएं उनके घर

ताकि उनका घर बन जाए दुनिया।

कुछ किताबें अनाथालयों,

वृद्धाश्रमों की चौखट पर भी

छोड़ दी जाएं चुपचाप ,

ताकि वहाँ बीसियों बार पढ़ी गयी

जर्जर किताबें मुक्ति पा सकें।

कुछ किताबें भिजवा दी जाएं

जेल के भीतर

ताकि सजायाफ्ता कैदी सोच सकें

इतनी भी बुरी नही है ये दुनिया।

कुछ किताबें गाँवों की

स्कूल लाइब्रेरियों में भिजवाई जाएं

आप जानते ही हैं

उन्हें जगह भी आवंटित है और रैक भी।

कुछ किताबों को पहाड़ ,खेत में भी

छितरा देना चाहिए

गडरिये के किस्से खत्म होने को हैं

और खेतों की मुंडेर पर बैठे

बच्चों की टोली को चाहिए

अपने सपनों के लिए कोई नई कहानी।

कुछ किताबें उस दर पर क्यों न पहुंचे

जहाँ आते हैं सिर्फ रूप के ग्राहक।

कुछ किताबों को ठेले पर,

गलियों में ले जाकर देनी चाहिए हाँक

ताकि लोग जान- मान सकें

किताब को रोजमर्रा की

सबसे ज़रूरी चीज।

ये हीरे जैसी किताबें कब तक प्रतीक्षा करेंगी

लाइब्रेरियों में हमारी

इनके पास पंख हैं

इन्हें उड़ कर जाना चाहिए हर जगह ।

©सोनू यशराज

COMFORT IN GRIEF- SRUTHY MANOJ

In grief there is comfort

A sweet sadness

Enclosing me in a tight embrace

A momentary moment where I can let go

And feel me freely

Consoling me,

It whispers in my ears

Accept the unacceptable reality

The world is harsh

Find the love buried behind that pain

In the rain there is rhythm

A melody sharing my melancholy

Imparting a sense of belonging

In the darkness there is peace

Both temporary yet forever remaining

In grief there is comfort

Remnants of lost loves

Promising me the world

that once used to be mine

Giving me the closure that no one gave

सभी नाम कमाते हैं- Milind Gupta

आजकल के इस दौर में सभी नाम कमाते हैं...

पैसा,गाड़ी,ताक़त यह सबके मन को भाते हैं...

बड़ा रुतबा, शानों-शौकत सबके दिल को लुभाते हैं...

जिंदगी के हर मुकाम पर खुद को ही सबसे बड़ा दिखलाना चाहते हैं...

कामयाबी की हर पराकाष्ठा पर अपना ही नाम लिखवाना चाहते हैं...

अपने अरमानों को पाने के लिए सभी नीतियां अपनाते हैं...

आजकल के इस दौर में सभी नाम कमाते हैं...

आजकल के इस दौर में सभी नाम कमाते हैं...

पर मैं इन सभी चीजों को दिल से धुत्कारता हूं...

ना पैसा,ना गाड़ी,ना ताकत खुदा से मैं कुछ नहीं मांगता हूं...

ना सबसे बड़ा होने का ख्वाब अपने ज़ेहन में लाता हूं...

मैं जिंदगी में कोई भी कामयाबी पाने से पहले अपनी कुछ ऐसी पहचान बनाना चाहता हूं...

खुद के अरमान पूरे करने से पहले अपने माता-पिता को उनके, हर अधूरे ख्वाब पूरा करते देखना चाहता हूं...

मैं जिंदगी में नाम कमाने से पहले अच्छा इंसान बनना चाहता हूं...

मैं जिंदगी में नाम कमाने से पहले अच्छा इंसान बनना चाहता हूं...