Wingword Poetry Competition 2025

By Sreejita Mitra

Aren’t we all fallen angels?
Banished from the Elysian Fields, 
For better or for worse,

By Valene Rodrigues

With nights that pass and days that hurry,
A year went by with your name on a wooden plate,

By Neil Jha 

The clock ticks,
Minutes all rolling together in a rush.

By Arshpreet Kaur

Dear politicians,
It’s a humble request: kindly leave us to live our way.
For a very long time, we were suffering from pain.

By Soumya Medanki

Bury me in June, when the fog has yet to come.
After I have followed close behind death with a skip in my step.

By Vrinda Semwal.

She's lost in the haze, unsure of her way,
Torn between right and wrong, each passing day.

By Raag UA

A madman on a deathbed
Wants to be helpful,
Tries his best,
Asking for help
And trying to get over the pain.

By Mariyam Shirolkar

It's a sin for mother dearest to talk to me. 
She prays that arrogance doesn't lead me astray, into a disgruntled and heinous way.

By Mounika Godugu

Eyes, your eyes, what eyes!
The depth of your eyes I can't measure.

By Soma Laskar

Where is that far off land
With pretty flowers on hills?
Where no bullets litter the streets!
The pink, green, oh no the red
Satchel she tantrums for,
So many from which to pick.

Where are those blue white waves
In far off lands beyond?
Where stomachs never growl!
Where books are read,
And songs are made,
To dance at parties late.

Where on earth is the place
In far off mountains yonder?
Where no one drops a bomb!
Where Nobel prizes are won—
Weaving words almost sublime,
All that dignity, in Gwangju pain.

Where on earth can I fly
Where sweet music fills the sky?
Where deafening air raids never happen!
Where children go to school,
And play and learn history,
I wonder, who will tell our story?

My plea to you—
All who live in oblivion,
Beyond our tears, beyond our death,
Beyond our blood, beyond our fear,
Beyond our cries, beyond our terror—

Can you give us in Gaza
A single drop
From your coveted cup of peace?

By Kristina Sarma

Lens of history, I wore, 
river of poverty was flowing. 
Hunger and illiteracy formed as tributaries, 

By Swapna Sanchita 

He was still alive, I could tell,
From the way his chest rose and fell.  

By Faiz Abdulla

"How are you so calm, composed, and well put together?"
He asked, as I stood there chewing his words,

By Reshma G.V.S.

I used to sketch the ocean's sway,  
My fingers danced with every spray,  

By Poorvanshi Tyagi 

I say my mother doesn’t understand me
And go on to rest in her sleeves,

By Sehar Walia

Frosty flower made of ice,
Like parts of a snowy paradise

By  Gopikrishnan Kottoor

Three days back I saw her scampering,
her cotton egg pressed with all her hands

By Hamza Nisar Ahamed

Given the choice,
I would be the first ray

By Indra Narayan Das

Despicable face, covered with filth,
he was awful just like me.

By Shriyandhaa Aravindan

Calm,
In every bit of trickling water
That hurries away smoothly down the river.

By Kiruthika Palraj

Just go to your room and study, they say
So I do-
Drown the yelling with textbooks

By Krutika Kulkarni

Her love was blind,
Her love was pure.

By Ayush Pandey

A weary traveller at the brink of death,
A heavy heart in the realm of life.

By Taranna Sharma

I try not my feelings to be showed,
But happier feelings of him are just overload

By Asha Maya Tamang

Sunrise, dawn, glory or,
Sunset, dark, obscurity. 

By Riddhi Majithia

Why is it that when we embark on this journey of life, we think about the end,
The monstrous animosity of unawareness, choking us to fend. 

By Archana Bharti

I am sorry..
For being a woman.
How dare I
Make you uncomfortable

By Vaishnavi Tejomurtula

Standing between two expanses,
While waiting to be touched by either

By Md Zimam Ahmed

Perhaps in another time, in another land,
We will watch the sunset, laughing..