By-Nidhi Ahuja
I brushed a stroke of orange on a clean coral canvas
and waited not too long to see its meaning fade....
]]>
I brushed a stroke of orange on a clean coral canvas
and waited not too long to see its meaning fade.
The concoction of colors had promised a mild orange
but I was afraid my vision had underplayed.
I stood lonely by the canvas as my palette refused to obey.
I had to keep going though,
as I wanted the world to see the truth which my eyes saw.
Some lines here,
some shapes there,
with one last slender stroke, I had created something new and raw.
But with that last stroke, I saw my truth take a turn, arcane and very brief.
Summoning a little courage, breathing new life into my work,
I stood lonely by the canvas as I bid adieu to my obsolete belief.
A young man who hailed from an era of abundance, approached,
and was stunned by the lack of glamour in my painting to be seen.
He ignored the underlines, the truth behind that geometry,
like someone who sees only the coastline, the horizon and nothing in between.
So again,
I stood lonely by the canvas as I chose not to be a conformist,
I stood lonely by the canvas, everyday, as I called myself an artist.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
By-Stuti Garg
Each night as it strikes ten
The destructive thoughts ring the bell...
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Each night as it strikes ten
The destructive thoughts ring the bell
On my part I try my level best
To avoid these introspections so pessimistic
But all I do is
End up failing terribly
And they on their part
Present the scars as a show so fascinating
This heart and mind
Addicted of that show so dreadsome
Enjoy it thrillingly
Missing not even a part willingly
Moon and stars the only one's
Who with me along watch those scars
Are badly tired waiting
Me to show something really alluring
Though glutted by, they still
Act as audience so brill
Which this fucking world
Couldn't so far do
They cry each night along
After watching the show so forlorn
Not one hour, not two
The whole night passes through
And at six the alarm rings
Imitating it to be the end
Trying its best to wake me up
But this heart deeply engrossed
Still wanna get that show watched
Fortunately arrives the brain
Saying get up! insane
As you will get
A new series to watch tonight
For there is more shit
I had to deal with…
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>
By-Aditi Choudhury
Tears screeching loud in silence
Silence that surrounds as if stolen from graveyards...
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Tears screeching loud in silence
Silence that surrounds as if stolen from graveyards
Your smile as if a mourning orchid
Your sky that has lost its moonlight in darkness
The rustle of sweet chirp now closed within windows
And just the rain that has bought in you again in her thoughts
The world calls it lonely, you call it escape from her loss
Fighting with the world, with yourself
And I say-
Loneliness is a thought moreover a regret
these thoughts which have risen from your wrong beliefs
Have just made you a caged bird in his own nest
Amidst the bars of memories and out of these memories
Sad ones make us regret the incomplete chapter
Ironically happy ones make us strongly believe the thought
What if we change our belief?
What if we start believing that happy moments are nothing just experiences
And experience never fades away…they stay with us forever
the sad memories?
They define the perfect justification why the story did not end your way
Now, look yourself are you still the caged bird
No! now you are unlocking the cage
Your thoughts have been changing
So where is your loneliness?
Honey! those happy memories are to cherish as your achievement, take its pride
Ok! If again next chapter is left incomplete…god gave you an empty book
You have time, go on with the next chapter…when you complete some chapters
You are going to understand those incomplete chapters have its perfect ending
And say -Why not giving my book another new chapter?
That day the free bird will take birth, chirping in its air
You will listen the silent poetries of graveyards
You will see rain washing mourning orchids to roses of love
Gleaming moonlight coming out of cloud
the free bird now is a star
And did not you see stars
They even fall down with a sparkle
But you are a shooting star
You would end with those sweet wishes made on your fall...
So what are you waiting for?
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>
By-ज्योति जेठानी
एक चिड़िया थी छोटी सी
गुमसुम सी… खामोश सी…
]]>
एक चिड़िया थी छोटी सी
गुमसुम सी… खामोश सी…
आसमान को छूना चाहती थी
ऊंचा उड़ना चाहती थी
जानती थी कभी ना मिल पायेगा आसमान
फिर भी खुद से लड़ती हुई
देखे उसके बदलते रंग
कभी धूप में पीला सा
उसे प्यासा तड़पाता था
कभी ख़ुशी में नीला सा
उसे छाया दे जाता था
कभी रात में काला सा
उसे डरा कर जाता था
कभी प्यार में गुलाबी सा
उसको रंगो से भर जाता था
वो प्यार के रंगो में महक सी जाती थी
अपनी नयी खुशबू को फैलाती थी
उसके बारिश के पानी से
उसकी मोहब्बत में भीग सी जाती थी
उड़ती रही वो उसको पाने को
बस एक बार उसको छू लेने को
मगर वो और दूर सा हो जाता था
मैंने देखा उसकी नज़रों को।
कभी थकी हुई... कभी रोती हुई
सबसे लड़ती हुई... बेगानी होती रही
एक चिड़िया थी छोटी सी
यकीन करना मुश्किल था...
जिसमे बरसो वो उड़ती रही।
वो आसमान ना कभी उसका था...
कहाँ पता था उस आसमान को कुछ
ना मिल पाने का गम उसे सताता था
अंदर से खोखला-सा कर जाता था
ना हसी थी... ना कोई शिकायत थी
पर उसकी तड़प मैंने देखी थी
एक चिड़िया थी छोटी सी
वक़्त गुजरता रहा
दम तोड़ा उसने उसी आसमान की छाया में
नज़रों में ना चाहत छूटी थी
छूने की ना आस छूटी थी
जाते-जाते जैसे कहना चाहती थी
"कि काश... उस आसमान को मैं याद रहूं की
एक चिड़िया थी छोटी सी "
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>By-Aiman Asad
Didn't you had a reputation to maintain?
How to be perfect you were trying yourself to train...
]]>
Didn't you had a reputation to maintain?
How to be perfect you were trying yourself to train
Many lies you told
Like paper you could fold
Your broken self you were trying to hold
After all in expectations of society you were trying to mold
You were trying too hard to make them proud
Wanting to sparkle in the crowd
You were so busy putting this perfection act on
That you had no idea when your inner self was torn
Fake smiles you smiled
Though yourself you did not liked
You were beautiful just from far
Otherwise you were just a broken star
Broken star pretending to be fix
Trying too hard with others to mix
Then competing with 'em & trying to shine the brightest
Slapping your own uniqueness the tightest
& still people weren't happy from you
Negative comments and shitty glance they still threw
So you tried more harder
To your own inner voice you gave a cold shoulder
You wanted to be an example so you tried fitting in different shapes
But your inner voice you couldn't escape
The harder you tried
The more it felt like committing suicide
The whole life you care about what they would say
So afraid to choose a different way
After very long you realized
Nobody is going to come and wipe your eyes
What you go through nobody sees
The pain you suffer nobody feels
& at the end all what they have to say is rest in peace
To discover yourself
To love yourself
You started a new journey as a broken star
You came back feeling like universe and not just a star
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>
By-Drizzela D’Souza
Break the ten letter word
She uttered with pink cheeks...
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Break the ten letter word
She uttered with pink cheeks
And sparkled almond eyes.
This was mother's way of teaching, loneliness.
Break the ten letter word
She said with utmost patience
Until I could say, lone-li-ness
With a deep smile.
Break the ten letter word
After years, I could relate to the terrifying punishment,
“Stand ALONE in the room!”
Break the ten letter word
Loaded with shame and stigma
An infectious disease described by some
A feeling of desolation amidst chaos
‘Loner’ fitted as my alias name
With passing seasons this dark feeling
Gripped my bones
And broke them into thousand pieces
Of self-pity, remorse, and void
It was astounding to watch my body hide
In the room of loneliness
Immersed in the running water
Which slowly caressed very aching part
Wish mother explained the way to embrace
Loneliness and solitude
The way she taught the ten letter word
With pink cheeks and sparkled almond eyes
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>By-Sakshi Jain
The boy next door was crimson
The boy on the first bench from class, teal....
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The boy next door was crimson
The boy on the first bench from class, teal
The girl living next to the church was black
The one from camp was white,
They were chunks of look alike paintings
Faded, dark and tainted,
But their artist had a daunting jinx
You should all run the same race, he fixed,
One bright morning, he decided
Today, I execute my masterpiece, he sighted,
His deed failed to tempt his greed
All strokes of crimson, black and teal,
They were unique but crushed
You should all run the same race, was their curse,
Their maker was a product of prejudice
concealed destruction in his own eyes,
pass with flying colors, they said, but
He can't steal their wings and expect,
Either let them fly left and right
Or his masterpiece will never be alive!
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>By-Vidhi Singh
Akelapan bhata hai mujhe ab
Logo ka kehna hai logo se milo...
]]>
Akelapan bhata hai mujhe ab
Logo ka kehna hai logo se milo
To logo se aur khul paogi tum!
Par duniya ki shorgul se dur
Kabhi-kabhi dosto ki majak masti se dur,
Parties se;naach-gaane se dur,
Shayad ek kamre me swayam ke
Sath rehna jyada bhata hai mujhe!!
Kyuki logo se khulne se pehle
Mai khud se khulna chahti hu,
Khud ki rag-rag se vaakif hona chahti hu
Tumne sath rehkar jo akelapan diya,vo katne ko daudta hai
Tumhare paas jaane ko man machalta hai fir...
Par yaad aata hai fir maa bhi to akeli hai ghar pe
Vo bhi to roti hai kabhi raato ko mere intejar me
Jis tarah mai tere liye..
Antar bas itna hai,
uske aansu moti hai aur mere shayad pani bhi ni…
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>
By-Iram Zuber
She loved him like how the night loves the dark sky,
Like how loneliness loves the heartache...
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She loved him like how the night loves the dark sky,
Like how loneliness loves the heartache
She needed him like the blood to her veins,
To make her feel alive and heal the scars of her agony.
She wanted him to be her other half,
She wanted him to fill the emptiness residing within her,
To be able to see through her soul and be the magic she always believed in.
She wanted him to wipe away the invisible tears,
To let her drown into the ocean of his heart and to let her hold on to her dreams.
He had the fire in his eyes that she wanted herself to burn in,
She wanted to see the aspects of his life he has never shown before.
She feared being estranged for life by the person she loved
She feared not being able to survive the loneliness that would ascend on her,
and for this very reason she would never let him know that how capable he was
that he could weaken her knees and make her heart race and make her feel lonely all at the same time.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>By-Srilakshmi U Sirumath
Every breath you muster courage
to draw in, is but another anxious thought...
]]>
Every breath you muster courage
to draw in, is but another anxious thought
that creates a havoc of your sanity.
Every thought twisting into
a plethora of suppositions and suspicions.
Every star wished upon,
only a pathetic, deceiving gaseous rock.
When, the golden sky is emanating hope and exuberance,
When, the agreeable wind has no snide remarks to make,
When, the vivid autumns leaves are descending
into a heap of bygones and anticipations.
When, all’s well with this world that’s spinning out of control,
Why then, there are doubts and voids swirling
Incessantly in that vastness of your mind?
Why then, a moment’s happiness is a cue
for tragedy to have its presence know?
Why then, wherever you go, there you are,
An aimless soul on a pointless journey.
Why then, the lucidity of life dwindles into haze
Over the agitated chatter of your mind?
Why then, hope is a flightless bird
unwisely yearning for the infinity?
Why then, even when amidst a place
brimming with so much existence and life,
I swim so passionately, deep into
the folds of solitude and withdrawal.
Why then, there lurks a scathing conscience that chants,
Is it the world that’s pulling away or is it I.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>By-Lalfakawmi Lalfakawmi
And so the rain keeps pouring
as you drench yourself....
]]>
And so the rain keeps pouring
as you drench yourself
in memories and melancholy.
You sit there wondering how
he might be doing without you;
thinking he'd lay just as lonely as you are.
But deep down you know,
he's under the sheets
with the girl he told you not to worry about.
She's fast asleep in his arms
like you used to.
Take a deep breath my Darling,
this too shall pass.
Time will heal your hollow heart,
while it eats him up alive.
He'll crave for you,
even just your presence.
He will beg for your hugs and your kisses.
Until then,
let the pain drench you
let the pouring rain soothe you.
This too shall pass.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>By-Tamalika Banerjee
Oh life! Why me?
In between screams & tears....
]]>
Oh life! Why me?
In between screams & tears,
In between dreams & peers,
I've lost myself,
Oh life! Why me?
While everything spinning so fast,
I was trapped in a cage,
Yell for help, but darkness hovering on my face.
No matter how hard I try,
It's still there, with the fear.
Fear of losing, oneself.
Oh life! Why me?
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>
By-Dimple Gupta
sometimes I feel I'm not enough
that this body and soul put together...
]]>
sometimes I feel I'm not enough
that this body and soul put together
are not enough, never ever were
my sadness they cannot contain
and thus, I... I overflow
I've sure leaked here and there
but to you I so willingly poured myself
you, who couldn't see the spills,
I wish you peaceful sleep
and a blissful life.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>
By-Tulza Kakde
With the fluttering of my wings,
I want to shatter the bars of this cage.
]]>
With the fluttering of my wings,
I want to shatter the bars of this cage.
But like a caged flower is a painting,
There is no possibility of being freed.
The spring and the autumn for me are alike go tell the morning breeze.
How should I know
When you come and then you go?
Whoever enters this gloomy place
Remains a prisoner for life in my heart,
They finally succeeded in shooting my soul
The life of my life finally lay and then die
Let my new life with love
bring me the eternal wealth of the old …
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>By-Anupriya Palni
My bony fingers skim through the list of names,
The people that I kiss fall asleep and lay....
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My bony fingers skim through the list of names,
The people that I kiss fall asleep and lay-
Nested in my arms like infants.
End of Lease again- These people are always merely tenants.
Sometimes I wish I had friends,
I wish that I would get presents.
I’d like to sit and make daisy chains,
Bask in the sun wearing my shades.
I would like to cast aside this dreary shroud;
A warm cardigan and some sweatpants; I would wear proud.
This scythe I wish to throw away,
It’s heavy and really gets in the way.
For once I’d like to hug a friend,
Smile at someone and watch a frown unbend.
I want to hold someone close,
On warmth, I wish to overdose.
I’d like to have a passionate moment with my bride,
One that loves me and is my pride.
I want to do all the normal things that people do,
Sometimes I ask myself, “Why can’t I be Human too”?
The only people who like me are sick,
The ones that await me are also sick.
The rest fear me and loathe me,
Is Life really so sweet, that so bitter I must be?
There's only hate for me,
No one can see that even I get lonely.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>By-Aditi Dhar Choudhury
A young girl, all of sixteen,
Huddled up in a corner...
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A young girl, all of sixteen,
Huddled up in a corner;
She’d sit there, waiting,
Hoping, somebody would call her.
She had friends, galore,
Everybody knew her name;
But most didn’t talk to her anymore,
Things had begun to change.
She fell, in a pit deep,
Couldn’t get out, needed help;
Nobody could see her weep,
Because, everybody had left.
She called out, but in vain,
Nobody seemed to care enough;
None empathized with her pain,
Maybe, all she needed, was a hint of love.
The young girl, is now nineteen,
Still lonely in a crowded world;
Till date, she remains unseen,
I know, because I’m that girl.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>
By-Tamanna Bangthai
I sat among the clouds, hoping for a glance of you
Wondering if the height would suffice this time...
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I sat among the clouds, hoping for a glance of you
Wondering if the height would suffice this time.
I waited longer than ever,
My heart was broken and eyes only a small opening,
But I stayed there alone,
For the hope, for you.
As I wake up from my dream now,
I realize I've been smiling.
Maybe you came,
Maybe you were there.
If only I could remember,
How you came from the clouds
Bringing with you the pleasant sunlight,
That blinded my vision, so,
Even your eyes became hazy as they met mine.
And off I fell into this deep, deep sleep.
I knew I had another such illusion,
The people call it so.
But I know it is my truth,
The truth I can live forever with.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>
By-Simran Basra
I cry,
then I smile....
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I cry,
then I smile
I smile,
then I laugh
I laugh,
then I stop
I stop,
then I think
I think,
then I feel
I feel,
then I cry again.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>
By-Pallavi Priyamvada
Hands of a lover,
hits of a husband.
]]>
Hands of a lover,
hits of a husband.
My words aren’t pretty,
but they don’t mean
to offend.
The tainted smile
of the trifling Don Juan,
how it slid
vehemently
underneath my blouse.
“Your sari is torn”,
he showed.
It was.
That’s why I left my house!
I fetched water.
He did not blink.
My throat caught fire,
it was alcohol,
mixed with zinc.
The glass crashed
quietly on the floor.
Spared my leg,
spirited my jungle.
“It wouldn’t hurt”,
he said.
In the board game room,
in 2002, so said my uncle.
His fingers cornered
my waistline.
Oh I remember
the desperate delicate force!
Like a beautiful boy
in a brothel.
Rocking, without saddle,
on a wild horse.
“Seduced by suicide?
Nonsense!
It’s all in your head.”
The skyline
could have resisted,
but it moaned instead.
My thighs were tied,
when he burnt my sheets.
I was pinned to bed,
as we set sail
to the forgotten waters
of tormented ships.
As I reach the shore,
my body is sore;
my head’s a mess,
the soul little less.
But committed
to no show,
I play on
the radio,
and
lick on
the sweet scoop
of loneliness.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>By-Shristi Pandey
People may say spring is here
Everything is upstaged with fragrance too...
]]>
People may say spring is here
Everything is upstaged with fragrance too
You are right there, waiting,
Saying you won’t leave without me
I hear your bicycle as I finally agree
You wanted this you said, you wanted us to flee
Up to the sky, and then back to you
Holding my gaze a little longer than I should,
Swear had freezed time, only if I could.
I hear the same song, we listened to that day
No it doesn’t sound the same anymore
Without the chorus, it gets all bore furthermore
We bumped into this ice cream parlour where you helped me manage the pretty girl’s number
And let me lose my mind,
I do text that girl sometimes.
Stopping by the post, you asked if we could walk
I had your hand by mine, you were so near
You talked of journeys, and orchids and life
While the symphony of your voice was all I could hear.
Now that you’re far
I cannot endure this yearning,
For I’m resolute this moment to hear whatever you got to say
Keeping the blues at bay
Only if you got back here, to stay.
People say spring’s here
But I can’t hear any bicycle bells, no
Time has shut down much of the sorrow
And unsaid things deep down
And only if you got back to borrow
For the world around is all mellow.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>By-Shailey Kadam
On the hospital bed...
I have been tossing and turning my head.
]]>
On the hospital bed...
I have been tossing and turning my head.
The flowers are replaced each day from my window sill.
Still waiting for something to replace my illness and give me a strong will
I miss those stars and moonlight
Those beaches and our stupid fights.
Those cards and smiles.
Baby you left me alone on a cold and lonely mile.
I sit here mesmerized, hoping you would come back with a smile.
All I have are the flowers to offer.
And all you left for me is a coffin to smile.
I am not afraid to face your cross every day.
All I am afraid is how I always want to lie besides it.
To cover my whole body in your mud and find you inside.
Or bury our memories that couldn't fit in my life.
Someday we are going to meet again.
Our bodies buried at the same place.
Our souls above some atmosphere or space.
Somewhere in some parallel lines.
We would still be holding each others hand as husband and wife.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>By-Suchismita Ghoshal
The dark room beckons me,
filled with a icy street of frozen blood....
]]>
The dark room beckons me,
filled with a icy street of frozen blood.
Sunset bids & the night laughs,
I procrastinate on going further.
My chained feet & squeezed mind,
pluck some motionless memories.
Silent screams ocean deep,
tears turn into vapours;
I visualize my drooped face,
In the mirror of my caged soul.
Forbidden alley of their company,
scratches roughly on my delicate heart.
I found no way of surviving,
for the plastic outlets of my skin
lost the battle of emotions.
I witness my nerves shrink in agony,
Tranquility envelopes my heart,
I sip the wine of loneliness.
Calamitous & troublesome;
thoughts of my peculiar mind,
narrowed the tricky gaps of hopes.
Crowded with some fiercy laughs,
I still hide my blood-patched heart,
sculptured by some blind trust & betrayals.
I don't repent on being alone,
I cry for my softness & tenderness.
I don't yarn for another musked stranger,
I crave for a strong heart.
Storms inside my pulsating blood vessels,
calm down with the passing nights.
Morning smokes the new warmth,
Assurance comes & goes.
I touch a tender leaf to feel the truth,
the truth of isolated dreams,
the truth of a journey of new life.
Will it be my company in solitude?
I repeatedly query it,
& the answer is still pending.
I collect every little pieces of scattered trust,
My courage fragile yet firm,
figures out some hope to recover.
It yells ripping off the weave of despodency,
Run! chase your goals, I hear it out.
I gamble on my life again,
standing over my purified hopes.
I still run for a sound sleep,
a calmed mind & a nursed soul.
I still search for a sleepy night,
with a dream free of hopeless solitude.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>By-Ahladita L
Dark walls keep pushing
Her soul to the depths...
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Dark walls keep pushing
Her soul to the depths
Of a pit so large it'll fit a crowd,
Yet not a single breath to be heard,
A broken girl sitting
Under the silvery moon,
As glistening threads of moonlight
Colours her lonely tears,
And as she sits amidst supposedly entertaining company
Of long known friends, all she feels,
The melancholy beat of her heart
Amongst the beats of glee,
Broken shards of the solitair maiden,
Not a human to hold her hand,
When she falls and breaks her bones
Not a person to help her stand,
And so she decides
To leave this world
If not one to give her a smile
No use of living with hurt.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>
By-Deepika M
You turn off the lights, to call it a day, as you prepare to sleep,
your mind flickers to a certain incident that happened earlier in the day...
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You turn off the lights, to call it a day, as you prepare to sleep,
your mind flickers to a certain incident that happened earlier in the day,
an argument based on the worst type of loneliness - and
you had laughed at the arguments that flew back and forth,
Being friend zoned by your crush shouted a tall one,
When freaking blue ticks are all that is on your chat solemnly said another,
To feel alone in a crowd said a voice soft, face down, eyes tracing the floor pattern,
Coming back to an empty home is the worst lonely feeling says one,
No, coming back to an home where no one cares is the worst argues the other,
as the answers flew back and forth, you wondered,
did they ever know that being alone with the demons on your mind
with no soul to notice your tension is far worse?
did they know that the worst type of loneliness is
being surrounded by a cobweb of thoughts,
but no one lend an ear to listen to them with no judgment?
No, they never know, for you have your act of All is Well on.
To those that know you well enough they know you are not as normal as you act,
for they think they know your demons and thoughts
that race along in that over thinking brain of yours,
but you are still alone, why so? because they do not know your demons.
They only think they do, but no they do not understand the concept of your demons.
It is not just insecurity as they call, there is much more
It is not over analyzing simple things, there is more
It has taken years for you to come to terms with it,
to know who you are, to discover your new self,
to accept the new you, along with your demons.
You do have a certain someone, who can understand these,
'cuz they experience something similar,
slowly, your demons start to disappear for a certain time frame
but as time goes by, they are tired of your recurring breakdowns,
they no longer want to lend an ear, they avoid you,
mock you to go see a doctor for yourself in a joking way,
but it stings your inner being, and the demon regains its centre stage,
you are again pushed back into that dark pit of loneliness.
They are no longer there for you, as you have lost a certain connection
the one that ran bone deep and beyond, they have shut you down
you are now deserted, you no longer exist in their life,
you try by all means to regain your forte, but in vain.
You are now all alone, left to go astray in the middle of an ocean.
A tear drop rolls down and drops on the pillow, waking you from your thoughts,
You heave an exasperated sigh for you have fed your demons a good amount of fuel,
and with one thought repeating like a broken record in your brain -
“You are always alone, with your demons, for they are you.”
you lull into a deep slumber, to fight back again tomorrow.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>
By-Namratha Sharma
It knocks on my door
Every night and day...
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It knocks on my door
Every night and day,
Especially in the night
Where it whispers the
Words of hell and praise.
It never fails to strike
Me when I’m alone,
And catch my hair
Drag me down below,
To make me plead for the
Sins I’ve never committed,
And watch me cry
For the loneliness
I suffer everyday.
They say I understand,
But do you really get it?
Because I don’t see anything
Working out,
All you said was cleanly washed out.
And in the end that all is
Left, is my lonely dream
Living with loneliness
In a room filled with
Darkness and scream!
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>
By-Radhika R
today
when you stand
in front of the mirror...
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today
when you stand
in front of the mirror
the reflection that stares
back at you
shall be cold yet strangely familiar
surely it can’t be her
your mind murmurs in protest
it cannot be the woman
you once refused to be
what did you do to
the delicate young maiden
who only knew to lament
to her heart’s content
and wipe her tears away
with no living soul
to grieve for her plight
what happened to the woman
who woke up every morning
to tear soaked pillows
and sheets pockmarked with blood
pretending to be fine
surely it can’t be her
your brain whizzes in agony
unable to get your head around
this new dawn
it can never be the woman
you once refused to be
what happened to the woman
who continued to offer love
even when she was left incomplete
what happened to the broken pieces
left wedged within the bounds
of her beating heart
who is this woman, is she her?
stronger, stoic, emotionless and rational(?)
what has this world turned her into?
a vile, heartless creature of the dark?
what happened to my damsel in distress?
why doesn’t she seem as distressed anymore?
and as you look back at the mirror
you feel the glass creaking under
the strength of your reflection
this long slice of glass cannot hold
the new skins you have grown into
it might be a cage, closing in on you
but remember it is made of glass
and just like all the other things in your life
this glass too shall break
and as you close your pairs and let
the last drop of tear sneak from
those beautiful doe eyes of yours
the mirror shall shatter
shatter into a million shards of obscurity
and now, you my love is a free woman
you are no longer entrapped
seething with pain and fury
feeling emotions so intense
this cage of glass can never contain
this my love is the time to rejoice
open your eyes, raise your head
and walk out of the room
cheer oh cheer
because you my dear
is now a woman, free as wildfire
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>
By-Nirali Bandaru
I plead, I plead, day and night,
to free me from thoughts, grey yet right.
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I plead, I plead, day and night,
to free me from thoughts, grey yet right.
Put out the fires of misery and pain,
make my sun bright, stop making it rain.
I'm praying, I'm praying. Bring me, at least,
an umbrella to cover my wounds in discreet.
Drown me in heavens and hells of love,
Make my voice heard in the world above.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>
By-Kritika Naithani
A bus stop, heavy rains
A couple stumbles in, drunk in love or on something else.
A bus stop, heavy rains
A couple stumbles in, drunk in love or on something else.
I wonder if there will ever be someone for me?
To take drunk bus rides with on rainy nights
or To wipe my tears as I cry and catch me as I fall, someone to-
Blinded by glaring lights and the bus horn – the couple gets on-
I stay behind.
Wanting to savor this feeling a little bit longer,
Doing nothing, feeling nothing.
Maybe I don’t like people or maybe I like myself too much-
Maybe I don’t like company or maybe I love my loneliness too much.
I often find myself at deserted spots -
Wondering If I will ever be enough,
Enough to wipe my own tears
And to catch myself as I fall.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>
By-Rahul Gupta
I may be emotional and prone to getting attached a little too easily but I am not weak.
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I may be emotional and prone to getting attached a little too easily but I am not weak.
I am as sturdy as that old worn out bridge helping hundreds of people across.
And I believe there should not be even one person whose absence could cause one distress.
And maybe I was put together in a disorderly fashion but there's order in chaos and I am kind before anything else.
I am not replaceable.
Perhaps one beautiful day, at long last, I'd finally lose hope.
Will I never get to find a person of my own.
Will I always be treated like that old favorite Tshirt you have but never wear.
How many times do I gotta tape my own heart together. How many more times can it handle.
Do promises really have no meaning.
Can no one really see how my tears are just about ready to jump out and proclaim what an idiot I am.
Have I achieved greatness in the art of welling up.
Does it all happen because I have not learnt how to not give my all.
Would I now forever have to weep in the shadows.
I don't even wish for love. I don't have that kind of an expectation anymore. But not even a companion? Am I truly so horrible.
Winters cause melancholy.
Perhaps people like me must lock their heart in a steel cage and throw away the keys.
The only solution is to transcend it all.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>
By-Ayushi Jain
At age 10
I wandered, I ran out...
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At age 10
I wandered, I ran out,
My bundle of love was lost in the midst of shinning stars…
After years of trembling down,
I picked myself up, hoping you might see me beneath the sky…
Loneliness, it felt…
Hope, it feels.
Mother O mother, how many stars are there?
Mother O Mother, I can't wait to come there;
Mother O Mother, there is no other space
I try to give so much back
But you'll never come back
Only memories and moments of joy
......
Swinging near the well;
Threatening you by trying to jump for some penny
Being the naughtiest kid of the town
To now becoming the most decent one
I deserved more you than more me
Mother O Mother;
We shall meet there when sun comes down and nights light up.
And then my world will not be so lonely,
It would mean something.
Mother O Mother without you I'm Nothing.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn
]]>