Poison

Stranded in the vast,

Ocean of thoughts,

I am.

The boat of acceptance glares at me.

Attracts me to its comfortable,

Well-supported self.

The relaxation of not trying,

Just accepting,

Attracts me.

But fear overtakes desire,

And turns into a state of fascination,

As I see the thin white paper boat on my left.

Not strong enough to bear the ocean currents alone,

It strives to float somehow.

For its willpower is strong enough to stay there.

I swim to it,

Mesmerized by its simplicity yet strong demeanour.

As I lift it,

I see two golden words written there,

‘Be yourself’,

It says.

And it talks to me.

“Run away from the boat of acceptance,

For it will gulp your uniqueness.

Run behind who you strive to be,

Not who others want you to be.

Be the golden sunlight,

Or the dancing daffodils,

Be the fresh blue sky,

Or the grey clouds.

Be who you want to be.

Embrace your soul,

And don’t let the poison of acceptance contaminate your pure self.”

And since that day on,

I am me,

Uncontaminated by the comfortable acceptance.

Light of the soul

The orange sky had captivated me,

And was ready to gulp my yellow light.

The rays of my light grew dimmer,

And the glow of the sky grew stronger.

My light wasn’t ready to be overcast yet.

But the sky was stronger.

It did gulp me,

Slowly and steadily.

It did take my yellow radiance away,

But couldn’t extract my glow.

I came back when the orange sky turned an inky black.

This time I was white,

Unpigmented, colourless, drained,

But natural.

 My glow was mine,

Not the sky’s.

I was more me than I could ever be.

For I didn’t care what the colour of the sky was.

I only cared about what the colour of my soul was.

The cursed tree

The noose of society was tight on her neck.

She hung on the tree of caste,

With scratches of discrimination on her palms.

The blood of her jaati still flowed in her veins.

The stamp of domination and authority was vibrant on her forehead,

And the mist of fear around her was still not clear.

The fasal of submission was harvested every year in her village,

And the hall of self-respect was used.

She didn’t even know what the tree stood for,

When she was hung on it.

The tree that shook when a new body was hung,

But it never fell.

Tangled Forever

Her jet black, Rapunzel-like hair,

Trickled down the tower of her soul.

But they were tangled and confused,

Just like her mind.

Her castle was filled with people,

Who wore fake smiles and fake masks.

In this ocean of heartlessness,

She had learnt to live alone.

Or so she thought.

One fine day,

When she was on her way back to her kingdom,

She met a wanderer.

The wanderer was just not like her.

Her hair just reached her shoulders,

And her smile beamed the confidence that lay underneath.

They became friends instantly.

The princess got back to her castle,

And all she could think of was the new friend she had made.

Even though she was new, she was real,

The princess felt.

As time passed,

The wanderer and the princess became friends,

Untangled each others’ minds,

And enhanced each others souls.

They stuffed their stomachs together,

And broke their hearts too,

Their passions wavered,

But their comradeship never faded.

They grew up and their paths took them to different places,

But their hearts stayed together,

And kept them connected.

They spoke every single day,

Not through the telephone,

But through their connected minds.

Princess

 O my dear princess,

This isn't a fairytale,

This is life.

Your luscious blonde hair don't reach for your knees,

And your baby pink gown is seldom seen.

The only corset that binds you is that of society.

Your glass slippers don't crack, but your heart does.

No charming princes,

No fairy godmothers,

No magic.

Just you.

Each new day comes with a new challenge,

Not with a new dress.

Your weapon isn't your gullibility,

It's the sword of your robustness.

The witch of doubt arrives each day to haunt you,

And you fight back with perfection.

So my dear princess,

Be the warrior you are.

And fight your battle everyday,

With the world.

And with yourself.

Home

The fragrance of warmth touched my heart.
And the doors of glee opened.
The arms of familiarity wrapped around me,
And the angel of dwelling kissed my forehead.
The bed of dreams floated towards me like a vision,
Translucent and vibrant.

The rustic green walls were all the same,
But their shine was new.
The snapshots on the walls appeared real,
As real as the memories they encapsulated.

 The bitterness of my cup of coffee,
Had vanished by the aura of benignity it carried.
My window pane wasn’t broken anymore,
The passage of time had fixed it.
The old chair let out a new creak.
And the torn curtains gave me a glimpse of my soul.

It was then that I realized,
My home wasn’t a building of four walls,
It was a building of four million memories.

Agatha and Sophie

She was terrified.

She was petrified.

She couldn’t let her best friend die!

Sophie lay beside her,

Storian speared through her heart.

The war around her ceased,

But the war within her perpetuated.

She stared at Sophie,

At the witch who was a princess,

At the witch who had saved her life.

Agatha didn’t know what to do.

She didn’t know how to save her.

She wrapped her dying friend in her trembling arms.

And tried in vain to fight the staunch wound,

With a bed of tears.

Her friend didn’t deserve to die,

For with her last breath,

Agatha would cease to exist too.

Sophie’s eyes flickered with life.

Sobbing and shaking,

Agatha kissed Sophie’s cold forehead,

Hoping that the magic of love would take away the evil death which resided in her.

The dead ground wept.

And Sophie’s silent heart faded.

The bright blue Storian turned a dull grey,

And Sophie’s luminous skin allayed.

Her cheek was wet with Sophie’s blood,

But Agatha continued to cry,

Until the blood vanished.

Sophie’s dead heart lived.

And her spotless skin glowed.

The deadly red blood evaporated.

And the tinted soul returned.

“Sophie?” Agatha murmured with difficulty.

“Aggie!” Sophie answered with a faint yet lively enthusiasm.

They smiled.

“Who needs princes in our fairytale?”

Sophie exclaimed.

With the strong gush of wind,

The Storian blazed with new life,

And returned to its tower in the sky.

The two girls retreated.

Smiling at each other constantly,

Their bodies shimmered and shone,

Gradually turning translucent.

Tedros ran towards Agatha,

For he didn’t want to lose his princess.

But it was too late,

The eternal fairytale of the princess and witch,

Culminated without a prince.

This poem is based on the book School for Good and Evil by Soman Chainani.

Lollipop

She sat on the worn-out wooden bench.

Which was bound by solitude.

She was surrounded by clouds of thought,

Which had the same grey colour of monotony and melancholy

Silence was paining her ears.

But it was short-lived.

A girl walked up to her.

She had two pigtails,

Which fell over her shoulders.

She was holding two orange lollipops in her hand.

And was wearing a blue pinafore with a white shirt underneath.

Her white socks reached to her knees,

And she wore black buckle shoes.

Her face was plump and adorable.

Her cheeks had a natural blush.

And her lips were lit up with a homely smile.

She smiled.

And the girl from the blanket of isolation peeped out.

“Hey! Want to share?”

The girl with the lollipop asked with warmth.

With her heart in her mouth,

The lonely girl replied

“Sure, why not?”

She finally lifted her blanket of isolation.

And stood from the bench bound by solitude.

And walked into a new land,

One filled with gummy bears and cotton candy.

And liveliness without an end.

One with a friend.

The stain of blood

The blood-stained cloth lay comfortably in her blood-clotted mind.

She lay restless.

And stared at the four unyielding pillars that surrounded her.

Society

Tradition

Impurity

And Guilt.

All gazed at her,

Menacingly,

And unperturbed.

Was she truly impure in these few days of her life?

Did all her serenity, purity and tranquility also leave her soul along with that hideous red liquid?

Did all her good vanish with that one drop of evil blood?

Was the red fluid what defined her?

She didn’t think so.

For her, red was purity.

Red was as tranquil as the red lehenga she had adorned on the pious day of her marriage.

It was as pure and powerful as Goddess Durga.

It was as feminine as she was.

She wanted the four pillars to collapse,

Along with the beliefs they encapsulated.

And she knew that only she could conquer them.

She stared at the blood-stained cloth.

She walked towards it.

She lifted it.

She looked at the one tiny door which stood amidst the four pillars.

She walked towards it.

And opened.

With each step she took, one pillar fell.

But she continued to walk.

Until she reached a spout.

She poured the water from the spout onto the cloth.

It colored her water-like life with the pure blood.

The pillars fell.

And she rose.

With the blood brighter than ever.

Dreams of reality

A tiny piece of land stood,

In the bright blue sea.

The tall and authentic tress of Palm,

Swayed with the wind that brought about calm.

The birds let out their euphonious chirps.

The grass was fresh every morning with the drops of dew and joy

The Island was happy.

So was she.

This was her home.

It was like a cozy and fluffy blanket which protected her soul from the merciless world of the sea.

It was a cocoon which protected this little butterfly.

Her soul felt safe, and she was content.

She wasn’t alone.

Everything on the island was a part of her.

She wished for nothing to change.

But change is inevitable.

One fateful morning,

The bright sunshine turned inky.

And the dynamic sky cried.

The trees stopped swaying.

And the girl stopped smiling.

Each part of her was deteriorating.

And her state was heart-breaking.

The waves of the deadly sea shot up high.

And gulped the island of her dreams.

They took her with them.

She sunk, she drowned, but she floated too.

She balanced with the ups and downs of the sea.

This poem is basically a representation of what my friends and I are feeling after leaving our school. The island is our dear school and the sea is the world we are venturing into.

Sophie

I had my board exams so didn't get a chance to write anything for a long time.  Finally, here I am:


The tinted soul stared at its tinted reflection.
Her reflection was stained with the bad memories that resided in her soul.
Her reflection showed her ghastly conscience.
It showed the bald-headed evil witch that resided in the blonde-haired pretty princess.
She wanted to be good,
But the truth of her sombre soul couldn't ombre with the colour of the lies the world told her.
Love had betrayed her.
So had her best friend.
 Love had only meant hate.
 ‎She stared again at the reflection that stood before her,
 ‎And let out a smile.
 It took years for her to understand,
 ‎That she was her true love.
 ‎That only she could accept the light from her dark soul.
 ‎She loved just one thing truly, the thing which loved her back-
 ‎Her Mirror.

This poem is based on the character Sophie from School for Good and Evil

The Tower of New

Firstly, I would like to apologize for such a late post. I have been working on 2 stories which I would be posting soon. I also had my exams for the last two weeks which didn’t really allow me to post. I wrote this poem today and thought of posting it. Here you go:

The Tower of Gloom stood tall,

Unlit and somber,

Covered with weeds of melancholy,

And a smoke of gloomy unimaginativeness .

The Tower was lonely,

Just like the girl who inhabited it.

She sat idle all day,

Looking out of the window,

At a scenery so cheerless,

That it wore out her smile.

She wore black,

Saw black,

And felt black.

The cloak of dullness hid the soul of cheerfulness.

She was stuck in the Tower,

For she thought that there was no way out.

But she was wrong.

An ordinary day arrived with an extraordinary twist,

And brightened up her life.

A cylindrical blue object came floating into the cracked window of the crooked Tower,

It had a smoothly cornered and flat-bottomed nib,

With a sharp tip.

It shone Golden.

It seemed familiar.

But she quivered.

What would this unknown yet attractive object bring to her?

How would it drift her out of this cheerless existence?

But negativity lost the battle.

Her hand slowly drifted towards the strange object,

And she felt a strange sensation.

Her feet rose above the ground,

And she levitated.

The strange object carried her.

She was amused,

But she trusted this unknown entity.

She didn’t let go.

The strange object carried her out of the tower,

Through her window.

Then she noticed something she hadn’t noticed before.

Another Tower that stood right across the Tower of Gloom.

The object carried her towards it,

And all she could do was stare at it with a feeling of awe.

She felt a sensation that she had hardly felt before,

Joy, it was called.

They reached the new Tower,

The Tower that bloomed,

With flowers of liveliness and rays of sunshine.

To the Tower which had no place for desolation

This poem basically reflects my love for writing. I am the girl from the poem. The tower is my boring routine life, the strange object is a pen and the new Tower is a reflection of my life after I got introduced to writing. I would like to dedicate this poem to my English teacher, Amit Sir who has always encouraged me to write and express my thoughts using ideas which are out-of-box.

The rusted box

It was dark,

It was eerie.

It was a graveyard.

The sky and the earth were as dark as the jet black soot.

There was not a soul to be seen,

The dark, leafless tress appeared like extensions of the lifeless and forgotten that lay beneath.

The owls hooted and the wolves howled.

The light of the moon was overshadowed by the darkness of the spectral location.

I stood near a grave.

It had my name.

There was a stone on the grave,

It said “the forgotten childhood of mine”

The date inscribed was that of my 15^th birthday.

I grew anxious,

And decided to dig the grave.

I failed to understand what the stone meant.

I kept digging, and found an old, worn out iron box.

The box had gathered dust,

And had all rust.

It appeared as if it had had a bright colour at some point in time,

But that the chains of time had imprisoned its liveliness.

But great difficulty, I opened the box.

What drifted out was unexpected.

A bright, golden, translucent wave of thoughts rushed out,

All my memories of childhood enshrined in it.

It started to spread light in this otherwise lifeless atmosphere.

The darkness was outshined by this speck of light.

Soon, liveliness spread.

The black light turned golden.

And the sad times turned cheerful.

This poem represents how we forget the pleasures of our childhood as we grow up and how our lives have becoming boring and dark without these lively and forgotten memories our ours.

The liquid called life

I have been posting many poems lately. I promise an article next month. 

I am on vacation. Vacation for me means sitting at the sea shore on a beach and just closing my eyes. I am at a lovely beach in Egypt and really felt connected with the sea. Water is something I absolutely love. So I personified it:

Sea is my name.

The liquid of life is what I constitute.

I stand proudly as an immortal in a world that's mortal.

The soft yet coarse, grain-like sand is the body I reside in.

I adorn ornaments of all colours.

Every small stone is a piece of jewellery for me.

The colourless yet full-of-life liquid is my soul.

Every tiny creature of various tints and shades is each thought that crosses my mind.

The up and down movement of my soul is a symbol of my worries.

Some reach the shore and disappear forever.

Others stay in my soul forever.

The stream of life flows,

The cycles repeat.

But I stay on forever.

Everyone merges their worries with my calm soul.

Sea is my name.

The brainwashing monster

It was Women’s Day last week. I wanted to post a nice article, but I have my exams next week. So I wrote a poem quickly. Please forgive me if this one has any mistakes, its written in 15 minutes. I know I have been posting many poems lately, but I don’t really have time to write articles. Sorry! Anyways, enjoy the poem. Happy Women's Day!

I am locked up in the prison of norms,

Darkness is what surrounds me.

The sunshine of hope struggles to reach me.

The monster of narrow-mindedness has engulfed society,

He is staring at me,

With blood-shot eyes,

And a desire to destroy me.

(Flashback)

Life wasn’t any better back then too,

Home-making was what I had to do.

Settling down was made my profession,

Mocking me was the society’s obsession.

Everyone was possessed by the monster,

With no realization of what it could administer.

The air was filled with a smoke of captivity.

The world smiled at the thought of fake freedom,

And the monster easy hypnotized them.

And eventually started engulfing them.

They chained me up one day,

The chains were lit up with the fire of hatred.

They pulled and pushed,

They forced me,

They even tried to brainwash me.

But I didn’t listen.

So I was taken to prison,

Though the prison had the dust of death,

The spirit of life refused to leave me.

Right now,

I am locked up in the prison of norms,

Darkness is what surrounds me.

The sunshine of hope struggles to reach me.

The monster of narrow-mindedness has engulfed society,

He is staring at me,

With blood-shot eyes,

And a desire to destroy me.

P.S.: In case you didn't get it, the protagonist or narrator of this poem is a woman

The Science Anthem

It was National Science Day on 28^th February. I got the opportunity to present a poem at school. So here is the poem :

How has science changed us?

Is it a boon or bane?

The theories of light and sound,

And the tidal waves that pound.

Newton’s law of motions,

And the huge array of solutions.

Science is a book,

It explains all, from the sun to the moon,

It takes us on a tour of biodiversity.

It gives us the formula of velocity.

It explains how chemicals react,

And how the nature acts.

It is a bane too,

It makes kids too lazy to do,

Any active work,

There’s no force or displacement.

But there’s definitely an amendment,

In the lives of the people.

How has science changed us?

Is it a boon or bane?

You decide.

The melting ice cream

This poem has a story. My friends, Shruti, Tina and I were getting bored. So we decided to take up a poem challenge. Each one of us gave a topic to the other. I won’t disclose the topic Tina gave me or the suspense in the poem would go. I gave Shruti the topic racism and Tina was given the topic Harry Potter. So here is my poem from this challenge, dedicated to these two lovely people:

I had a dream the other day,

The earth was lit up in flames.

The lively blue and green,

Were turning into a dead black.

The color of death was prevailing.

And the colors of life derailing.

Fire was increasing,

Liveliness was decreasing.

The monster of fire was gulping life.

And the earth was choking with soot.

Life ceased to live.

And death got a new life.

The temperature was shooting up.

Earth was perspiring heavily.

Sweat was draining life.

I woke up with a start

My science textbook was by my side.

I saw the topic I had been studying last night.

The heading read Global Warming.