Month: August 2025

An Ode to the Moon

 

For everyone who thinks they are not enough.

 

What if the moon believed that it wasn’t complete

Just because someone else saw it when it was crescent?

What if it felt worthless

Because it wasn’t a part of someone else’s sky?

And for a change…

What if it starts believing that

It’s complete,

It’s enough,

Enough to control the oceans might

Enough to brighten up someone’s darkest night

Enough to be the metaphor for a pretty face

To be in verses of songs about love, beauty and grace,

Enough to be the spark in a child’s eye

To be the diamond of the sky

To be celebrated in all its phases

To be crescent and still have a festival that awaits its sight

To only show a sliver of itself and still be loved right?

 

The World Leaders Shake Hands as the Global Order Remains Shaken up…

Every time an innocent civilian is killed

Humanity dies a million deaths…

To think of how unsettling it is when

On an unsuspecting sunlit morning

Into two buildings that touched the sky

With no hint, with no warning

An aircraft with the intention to destruct can simply fly

And it did so taking lives

With huge clouds of dust, debris and smoke

The buildings collapse and the terror thrives

Glass shards went flying and held humanity in a choke

And years have passed ever since, yet today we see

On the pitch black fabric of the infinite sky

The blinding missiles blare the sounds of a white lie

As a mother consoles her child’s desperate cry

Her tear filled eyes only ask the question-“why?”

 

It truly is unsettling that

A war is inflicted by someone suited up in his chair

Someone who has a gun in one hand and a silver spoon in the other.

The bloodshed, sorrow and despair however, the civilians bear

And children crying from hunger can no longer be consoled by their mother.

The leaders create front page headlines

As the population bleeds to statistics

Wars end with ceasefires, pacts and signs

But a war doesn’t just destroy concrete and bricks.

And for each drop of innocent blood

Humanity cries already at the cusp of a flood.

 

The Greek Myth of Orpheus and Eurydice

Such a tale, time and time again the world seeks,

One like when it had seen

A love so strong it made the nether hold its fiery breath

And stronger still, it stood in the face of death

With its soft music it pierced through the guards of hell

The strings of his lyre Orpheus strummed, and hypnotised Cereberus fell.

With his song, he sang a story in the palace of the underworld’s king and queen

In the boundless darkness, ignified traces of love he’d seen.

He sang of his yearning for Eurydice, and the rulers of the underworld sat still

Reminiscent of their very own love, Orpheus’ desire they’d meant to fulfill.

They warned him, however, that he’d have to lead her out.

Eurydice would follow, and he couldn’t afford to doubt.

To turn to check would mean to lose her forever

By shifting his glance back, all ties to another chance he’d sever.

His long grieving heart was brimming with restlessness.

Eurydice patiently waited for his caress.

With each step the tension grew,

Yet he did what he had to do.

At the threshold of the two worlds, that of the dead and the alive

He stepped out first and turned back before she could arrive.

His ecstasy had now sunk into an all-consuming deep void within.

The world he saw felt meaningless, and his strength wore thin.

The immense love he held was the bane of its own fate.

The tragedy now painfully intertwined with what could’ve been an ending so great.

His grief only grew and poured out in his songs

As he sat mourning all his wrongs.

From then on, his grieving never ceased

But through his mourning, his emotions were released.

And the world around him paused to grieve too

While his heavy heart was still laden with rue.

Trees descended from mountain tops to hear his tune

While people across the world travelled to hear him soon.

And in his ballads resided his very own love

And immortal became Eurydice, in his realm and above.

Such a tale, time and time again the world seeks

And yet it pauses to listen, when their music speaks.

 

What Hope Truly Feels Like…

 

Hope isn’t a ray of light.

It’s a flickering flame.

An anxious anticipation for better

When fate takes the blame

To acceptance – it’s a fetter.

And it’s everything but bright.

Hope isn’t the silver lining of grey clouds.

It’s the excruciating interlude for the clouds to clear out.

The result is all that matters.

It’s the fingers crossed in doubt,

The heart like glass- it breaks and shatters.

Hope is exhausted, settled like a sediment in the heart.

Only to be stirred again and then completely torn apart.

However, hope is pretty, it’s true.

Though not like sunshine or bands of colour across the sky.

Not like clouds edged with pouring light

But it’s pretty like a delicate chandelier hung up high.

Easy to shatter, away at a great height

Like a dandelion, wistful and trampled on the ground

But ever staying, never vanishing, like a lingering sound.

A version of me, left by the sea

 

I used to sit on a bench, 

Where the ocean ends, 

And the sky begins. 

 

Watching the waves write stories, 

Only the ancient brown sand could read.

 

The wind spoke with salt and hush,

Thoughts slipping from my pocket, 

Some, I wasn’t sure the shore could hold.

 

Shells giggled like old friends,

Softened by time,

Yet strong, not fragile.

 

And in that hush between wind and beach,

I left behind a version of me,

Washed clean, unafraid,

Leaping to begin once more.

 

A house with no doors

 

Beside the old oak tree stands a house with no doors.

A house not broken by burden of expectations, 

Nor ruined by the fear of judgement.

 

A house where each window, 

Each brick held a breath. 

A house with walls of sighs.

A house that stood still.

Stood still amid all chaos and turmoil.

 

A house not waiting, not inviting, 

Just existing.

With windows that dance in light, doors that taunt the rain,

And a floor that screams nostalgia with every touch.

 

And if you listen even closely, 

You might hear the noise of parties unthrown, 

The hush of secrets untold, 

And the laughter that once filled up the room, screaming like it’s trying to come back home.

 

A house with no doors to knock, 

No bell to ring and no welcome to expect. 

A door having cracks like my grandma’s wrinkled skin, 

A door old, not devastated.

Maybe one that’s placed not to be open.

 

A door that hums the pain inside it when wind’s at its footstep, 

A door that listens, but never speaks. 

A door that creaks, squeaks, and groans, yet never settles in place.

 

A house with a living room filled with tons of silence, 

Silence that’s heavier than the sound of fireworks,

Maybe lighter than the sound of snores.

 

A house with a small mirror hanging in the courtyard, 

A mirror that observes, but never reveals.

Not judging, not staring.

Just watching.

 

Some might even say it wasn’t built.

It wasn’t built, 

It was cherished, it was remembered 

And lastly, it was dreamt.

1. Birth: A new Life

When I’m born don’t call the gods,

Call the demons of lords.

When I’m born don’t call my friends,

Call the people that I shall hate.

When I’m born don’t call my loved ones,

Call the very, who made me done.

When I’m born,

I shall really be dead.

Somewhere in the sky,

Where birds fly,

An angel I seek,

To take me back from where I leap.

 

2. Friend’s Eternal Flame

Don’t let the fire in you,

Burn the future’s sky blue.

Be the best version of the blossom springs,

Bring about the bestest of the best wings.

Aaradhya my buddy,

Let’s be the version of our friendship, that’s the most,

STURDY.

 

3. Life’s Grace

Life is too short to only study,

Oh! my buddy,

Why are you so distressed?

Life’s rainbow shall again be graced.

Embrace the clouds of one’s tale,

Let your hair breeze through life’s gale.

A speck of dust,

Like an achiever’s lust.

The depths of the ocean I see,

Let’s not decide why to flee.

The studies are a part of your story,

Why make it the curse of your glory?

Enjoy the process,

Let your mind run its prowess.

 

4. My Mother

(This poem is a little abstract. It touches upon the feelings of a new born child. He/She has lost their father. Due to the innocence of a child, they believe their mother to perform the role of a father as well. In some sense, the mother has taken this dual responsibility.)

 

Where are you?

Who are you?

Is you, him?

Him is her.

Are you, my father?

 

5. Friends that Go

A time comes,

That a person never wishes to see.

Life takes a sharp turn,

Making your head burn.

A friend goes,

As time shall never have the pity to plead.

New friends, who dig your gold,

Replace the old ones who made you diamonds so pure.

 

But new hearts also turn cold,

Old was my rainbow VIBGYOR.

That face that smiled at them,

Now stands alone, faded at them.

Awaiting a simple gesture,

“Hey!”

God changes our fate,

But lord, why do you take away our mate?

Tears of salt, drop from the sky,

Time shall fly,

While I shall cry,

While I shall cry.

 

6. In my Mirror

In the abyss of the mirror I see,

A figure I wanted to flee.

Society questions his looks,

They ask, do you only like books?

Standing tall but lean,

I forgot when my mind was clean.

Through the chambers of my heart,

Strikes a poisoned dart.

Parents are the boon of God’s grace,

Who seem to fade the trace,

I wonder where I lost my laughing father’s face.

Teen life is a labyrinth of a maze,

It makes one forget the wants of his craze.

O, Almighty! How shall I overcome this feeling?

When the only man I see is me flawed and falling.

 

7. Sapphire

You’re throwing your hearts,

like they are fragments of sapphire.

Shaping the people like darts,

Or burning them like your hand’s on fire.

 

A moment on still,

Enough to sink the boat of life.

One wrong dart and the hole is on the hill,

Though, you can always dive.

 

To see the people you meet

Going around without you hurts the greet.

Awaiting that signal, that God said,

Never did the goodbye a bade.

The Mysterious One

I deem mysterious ones as mystifying;

enigmatism is a dagger they use,

fortifying their hearts of hope and desire. 

An interminable tunnel of contemplation;

each moment spared to discover anew.

What an utter thrill to hunt for the keys to heart;

It’s a venture to start.

Hunt them well, 

You shall fathom the refined gallery of

adept art, oceanic thoughts and statues.

It’s the enthralling collection far beyond dust;

in an exclusive museum;

For few eyes to seek.

With each pace, they move deeper into the abyss,

Realizing how gracefully the plain white light is

borne with radiant spectrum.

That’s why the flowers in their garth stay pungent;

That’s why the jewels stay ablaze;

That’s why the lamp never dies;

That’s why and that’s them. 

 

   Wonderland 

Note from the poet: Along with the many interpretations of this poem, it also reveals how Amanda, the central character from Robin Klein’s poem ‘Amanda’, feels deeply, with extreme emotions, as a young teenager.

All they do is frown their brows

And shout themselves to drown me in their thousand words.

They have no care of how I feel;

Or how my heart drenched in my own bloody tears.

My peace is lone while I am surrounded by creatures;

When all they desire is to hold me so dear;

 I suffocate.

But time begone;

I lost will to struggle;

I close my eyes.

Now I simply stand still and silent;

My thoughts to myself.

Everytime you cage me in your thousand loving arms;

 I escape to my wonderland,

Far away in a thousand miles;

 where I alone am the master,

The land where I live o’ so free and happy.

I drift off to the heaven in my eyes;

While they bleed me in loving hell.