Results of Wingword Poetry Prize will be declared on April 30th 2021.
Welcome to the community blog of DelSlam. Here you can read truthful writings on things that matter in our lives.
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By Poorvika Subramaniam
Her soiled pallu wrapped around
Her frizzly hair with streaks of grey.
By Pooja Chandrakar
Drawing plain flowers, eating sour limes.
Standing under banyans, thinking they were pines.
By Pallav Natraj
It was raining early in the morning, a good excuse for me for not going to school.
By Nisha Shaw
One morning, my son asked me, “Daabu, who says the kite is free? Look it’s got a string.”
By Nidhi Deswal
to divorce what they knowto know what's beyond
By Nidhi Rawat
To whatever Karma suits;
This path remains the memoire recruits
By Namrada Varshini
My womanhood weighs me downlike I'm iron chained and flung into the ocean
He had to endure destiny's rage.What was actually his mistake?
By Mrinalika Goswami
It was 4 am in the morning and I woke up and I was still wearing that same old faded tee shirt from the last two nights.
By Mridvi Khetan
Dada believes his world will be free,the day he achieves his unfulfilled political glee.
By Mithun Dhyani
I watch you every day, waiting for your attention,But you always seem busy; ignoring my persuasion.
By MERCY KIPGEN
I decided to put this up the very next day at 7pm, but as a being and aware of the fact that we are tightly embodied.
By Manisha Singh
15th August, 1992, the day when I learnt the word ‘independence’ for the first time in my life.
By MANISH MAKWANA
The morning breeze that makes me freezeA walk on the streets makes me feel the ease
By Lavanya Arumugam
It was another normal day and a normal conversation with my mom. She gave me the news
By Krati Samaiya
They told her not to,Wear a short dress
By Komal Bhowsinka
The drooping shoulders, the run down arms.The brown suit man, his bold jewel toned shirt.
By Karnika Chauhan
The colours of chaos.I have been dying to tell you
By Kanika Sharma
Author’s Note : A memoir (essay format) about an unlikely bond between twowomen poles apart.
By Inilash Remot
Today it is empty, stationary and covered with dust;I sit inside and recall but my memories have caught rust.
By Indra Hatpins
You'd see the string,And its restraining purpose
By Hinali Parab
One day during summer vacation, me and my two sisters decided to do something fun.
By Gurpreet Kaur
Nitya, a young Brahmin girl, was ready to step into her teens. She lived with herloving family in the busy city.
By GUNJAN JOSHI
Because these streets belong to everyone.My eyes meet with that of strangers,
By GOUTAMI DASNAYAK
I was a caged soul
with quivering pains and silent screams...
By GOUTAM DUTTA
The dust and grime never bothered him.
The filth and muck from the drains was his playground.
By Gayatri Sriaadhibhatla
Messages don’t have the essence that those old letters which my mom wrote to dad had...
By Garima Mahajan
Creeping in your heart like that known unknown ballad.I do not twine metaphors...
By Gargi Khanna
The world seemed so ignorant
The streets seemed so exuberant
By Faiz Ahmed
Lost in my deep thoughts I chose to remain alone,,The feeling of emptiness seeps in