Poetry

By Ramkrishna Paul Paint of beautiful pain goes faint, Cry of groan choaks up, Tears of eyes get dried up, Lamentation finds place on the canvas, To beautify the colourful walls. Dews of silent tears form an ocean, An ocean of long sighs and pangs That keep continue to sing the rhymes, The rhymes of rainbow and thunder That play the flute day and night, The same tune,the tunes suppressed Least appear the drastic reality At the best,on behest of the kings For the richness of t

By Napuleon Sonowal If I could live once again — return to school-life, child-life — I remember my first day’s nerves, alone without my parents, yet rushing into class as a student for the very first time. A cute, innocent face —  thrilled by the uniform, eager to carry my bag, to meet friends, to play. Years flickered by — new faces, growing bonds. In those early grades,  I wished time would hurry — I dreaded exams, hid poor marks from my parents, yet every school morning fe

By Napuleon Sonowal And finally, belief comes to an end when truth outpaces it. But I am a flower — one who only wishes to see another bloom, no matter where it grows, no matter where it exists. Perhaps the gentle pot mattered more than sunlight, water, or soil. Perhaps that lovely flower loved its pot’s beauty more than the freedom of the open earth. But I was the one who wished  for it to grow freely — rootless, boundless, whole. Yet, it blooms — and that alone brings me pe

By Napuleon Sonowal In my garden, at the first glimpse of morning through the window near my bed,  the cotton rose wakes — Hibiscus Mutabilis opening white palms to bless me and the bees with a day of wonder. She cups a sip of dawn, whispers her secret name to the breeze,  petals soft as yesterday’s cloud, uncertain what to believe. By noon, she recalls pink — a gentle flush waking on her face; not embarrassment, just sunlight unraveling secrets on a trembling breeze; a shy c

By Napuleon Sonowal I am India — a nation of pride, also called Bharat, with history wide. Where leaders were born, bold and wise, who rose with fire in their sacrifice. My strength lies in diversity, different cultures, one identity. Hindus, Muslims, Christians, Sikhs, and more, together we stand, rich at the core. Great leaders rose to lead the fight, they gave their all to bring me light. With courage strong, they broke each chain, and built a future from their pain. They

By Napuleon Sonowal She lived in a garden where dreams flourish. She as Chui Mui — With Lajja-laced hands, She folds her green and gentle prayers, Hiding from the world’s restless gaze. She whispers stories only she and her silence understand. A shield of thorns guards her soul — But don’t be mistaken, she’s only protective. Each touch makes her fold away — not in fear, but in quiet strength,  a sacred retreat. Like the earth cradling its seeds before they sprout, she protect

By Ritik Gautam Where we fumbled before we spoke, Where steps stumbled more than walked, And in each falter, Father’s hand reached out for us. Let us return Where homes were built upon the moon, Where worry was only forlorn, Where strangers felt like our own, And even a mile’s distance Made us long for home. Let us return Where there was no great-small, No caste- creed , no walls between; Before the spider of difference Wove its web, We were all together — knit. Let us return

By Ritik Gautam Like binding the wind, measuring the depth of the sea, finding essence in the shallow, or shallow within the deep, Like my meeting with you, and our becoming 'We'. I love us. Never bend to the whispers of the world, when together, lost in our own universe. Sometimes we quarrel over little things, sometimes we surrender with quiet ease. We feel like two little children—our own peace. And I love us. Though the world has many for us, we never bound this bond in a

By Ritik Gautam There's a symphony by the river — Water, air, and dust whirl in rhythm. Waves gleam bright in cracks of light; I'm sitting on the shoreline, in quiet leisure. On the distant bridge, vehicles to and fro, Welkin-birds heading home. Memories flicker like butterflies in my head; By the water’s edge, I saw us instead. Phantoms waltzing in their own hymn, Far away from past lament, toward future’s relish. Nostalgia whispered, tantalized — You and I — wild, young, an

By Ritik Gautam Nights when I cannot sleep, Thoughts — like still water — run deep. Hark! A bird on my windowsill, Four doors in my head — puzzled. The bird first lands on the red door’s latch, A sign, perhaps, to lift the catch. I open it — bright white light; It leads to a garden, still and ardent. A nearby swingset, a gullible child, Down by the swing, his father smiled, Waiting by the slide, with arms open wide, A Polaroid for the wall called “A Beautiful Life.” The bird

By Ritik Gautam What if I'm dead? Funeral — by the river’s edge, hailstone-mourners — cordwood. Is it salvation or perdition? Death-faithed before life, germinated seed to slow decay — conversion for rue; is mutation always for good? In the hedgemaze of life, four stages inexpugnable, all run toward the same intent: final destination — the grave. ‘Truth’ imbibed from nonage, why only truth (Death) refute? In the arch of existence, is that man indeed wise? By Ritik Gautam

By Ritik Gautam Foreheads touched, in between a few gasps and sighs. "Are you gonna miss me?" "Obviously!" you replied. The fairy passed the silence, Time in the glass — adjourned. Where words failed to gabble, Only bone knew how to reckon. An aimless walk, running through the rails, Blank — the destination; folks to and fro. Winter fog and fairy lights — Nowhere to go. Nearby shop, dispersed queue, Number — token — time abide. I turned my head — heave! There we met — destine

By Ritik Gautam Tell me, Father, is there another world? Where birds can walk on land freely, Where humans can fly high. Water on the pond — why always blue? Perhaps another color, not just a reflection of the sky. Why must leaves always be green? Once they leave the trees, they're dry and pale. The summer sun hurts with its flare, Yet at dusk, there's a warm, sweet gale. Father, remember we sowed a seed two days ago? It has now grown a visible stem. Everything is changing ea

By Ritik Gautam Rain-soft- dead of the  night - days of mystic haze, Like a hand on the bark of a tree Lightning sky - amidst- drops ablaze, Dead-drenched deeds Clouds over tea - sleepy eyes to thee, As they sank into hush and a summer dream. By Ritik Gautam

By Ritik Gautam All the words that I write will not settle — the glee, fingers intertwined, meadow-sweet. Fountain at center, silhouette like twins. Do you smile through your eyes, or is it just the way you chin? The sky bled quiet, gentle in the wee — days folded into letters: a torn rose with a leaf. Talks about infinity and what’s beyond? Twirled in the same fabric, threads of plush — perhaps neon. A mad air recurrent, treading my door; unseen — scattered — spellbound. A k

By Ritik Gautam What should I write? When I've nothing to write — Inner conflict, or maybe a cyclic fight? Maybe I can scribble the voice of a child, Or a hovering bee near lotus-white. A syllable for a memory — easy to recite, Fables and parables — bedtime lullabies. Or maybe the tale of a destitute’s gain, Or perhaps I can pen the deepest pain. Maybe I should write about a working man, Painstaking — for a smile of kith and kin. Maybe I can write about a fighter, Who battled

By Rachita Randhir Dake By Rachita Randhir Dake

By Deeksha Agrawal In this world's crowded heartbeat, one truth we silently own Everyone yearns for a friend – a soul where love is forever sown Friends are whispers of God’s grace incarnate – blessings cloaked in laughter, tears unknown Like tender shadows they walk beside us, in joy and darkest night’s thrown Do you recall school days’ simple gold? Swapping tiffins with hungry delight We bunk classes on the same day – no other bond felt like that wild flight In those unscri

By Ravi Kant कहीं गांधी गुम ना हो जाए, आओ कुछ बात कर ली जाए। कुछ नील उठाओ चंपारण से, कुछ सौराष्ट्र का नमक मिलाओ, खादी के रेशों से झांको,आज फिर गांधी को ढूंढ कर लाओ। उनके संग ही तो चले थे तुम, कभी राम तो कभी रहीम थे तुम, आज उनके कदम थोड़े लड़खड़ा रहें हैं, वो आज तुम्हें फिर बुला रहें हैं। चलो न, ढूंढ लाओ उनकी वो लाठी और पुराने चश्मे को, पीर पराई को जो अपना कहते थे, ढूंढ लाओ न उन अपनो को। डाक टिकटों में वो अब भी हैं, अंकित हैं कई पन्नों पर, सिद्धांतों में उनका ज़िक्र होता है,..

By Arpita Yadav थक कर सोचा कुछ,  अधूरी मुलाकात कर लूँ,  छूट गया जो कुछ पीछे ,  उसे ज़रा याद कर लूँ। जमाना कहता करने को,  कुछ बचा ही नहीं,  देखे खाली कमरे, कुर्सियां और मेज,  तो लगा जिंदगी में कुछ रचा ही नहीं। कितना कुछ के पीछे भागा हूँ मैं,  अब जो अपना बंजर मक़ा देखता हूँ मैं,  तो लगा मैं कुछ पा सका ही नहीं। जिंदगी लादती गयी और,  मैं ढोता गया,  थोड़े थोड़े के चक्कर में ,  कितना कुछ होता गया। कमबख्त था मैं,  सब हमारा समझता था,  जबकि जमाना तो बस,  लूटने का बंजारा समझता था। सब कु