Misread - By Debangshi Paul

Written By: Debangshi Paul

Category: Poetry

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Debangshi Paul, writing under the name "Misread," delivers a compelling entry in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 with her work titled "Misread." This piece is a profound exploration of the nuances of perception and emotion. The competition invites writers from all over the world to showcase their unique voices, and Debangshi's contribution stands out with its emotional depth and introspective quality. Through her vivid imagery and poignant language, she invites readers to reflect on the complexities of human experience and the often-misunderstood layers of our inner world.

About the Work

"Misread" is an evocative poem that delves into themes of misunderstanding and emotional depth. Debangshi Paul uses vivid imagery and powerful language to convey the pain and isolation that comes from being misinterpreted. The poem's tone is introspective, with a melancholic undercurrent that invites readers to ponder their own experiences of miscommunication. Her style is both raw and elegant, capturing the essence of emotional turmoil with a delicate balance of strength and vulnerability.

Misread

Original Submission by Debangshi Paul

Misread.

Shall a wicked rose ,

Prick my skin,

But to you,

A simple tear.

Shall my skull be bashed,

But to you,

Only a broken shell.

Shall my heart be torn,

With its love flowing out,

But to you,

Only an opportunity to use.

Shall my body be hung,

Upon a whirl,

But to you, a nice view.

Shall my flesh be beaten up,

Bruises and such painting it up,

But to you, a wondrous piece of art.

Bottles of pills,

Lay by my bed,

Yet you still think ,

That I’m alright.

Forever and Ever,

Shall I be misread,

Now let me let go,

Of this miserly thread.

“A World of Wilted.”

Innocents affright,

A rose “so might”,

Prickly thorns woven all round,

Embellished with crimson bound of them all .

Sees themselves as,

A rose so rich,

But in reality is,

A rose so foolish.

World full of wilted blossoms,

Yet a few bloom from within,

Perhaps such roses were,

Planted by the Divine Themselves?

Hurt of a body; Ache of the Me.

Hurt of a body, ache of the minds,

Take my brain out it's skull,

Shatter it into pieces, tear it to shreds.

Hurt of a body, ache of the heads,

Take me off my medications,

They strike at my brain.

Hurt of a body, ache of the hearts,

I know it’s not me, but my mind tell me otherwise,

Burn these thoughts to ashes, dim up the night.

Hurt of a body; ache of the skins;

My flesh crackles and blisters

From within.

Hurt of a body, ache of the soul,

Squeeze all of life out of me, as foretold.

Rules Amidst the Heavens

Shall your heart belong to no other,

Shall it belong to the self and the self only,

Or else shall it shatter from the hands of the weak and fool.

Shall the cost of your tears be seen,

Never shall you cry for those who don’t know their cost,

Or else shall your heart be broken.

Shall your skin, fat, and bones,

Belong to you and you only,

And never to foolish meres,

Or else shall you die of starvation or the contrary .

Shall a body never mean more than the soul,

Shall the body never be feeble,

Shall the body never be reckless,

Shall the body never be foul.

Shall you mind only the wise,

Shall you listen to only the kind,

Shall you help only of whole worth,

And shall you always know your own worth.

Dear Dandelion.

You, my dear,

With a dandelion heart, so indeed,

One puff, and its seeds hover in a huff,

And a soul of fragile, to a toll.

What’s the use of a heart so afloat?

A little prick, and it’ll go pop.

Should you turn your heart as hard as stone,

But leave it a little soft for those of thought.

Perhaps you shall ask me—

“Why do you say?”

This world is of doom,

Most of its people are of no good ,

One word of the foolish, and your heart shall grow numb.

Day after day, your heart grows pins amid needles,

Until alas! It has left with mighty sorrow.

So do your heart a favour, and keep it safe,

For it’s the one keeping you alive every day.

One life, No Twice.

You have only one life,

So spend your pennies on your most desired,

But always remember,

To save your money first.

You have only one life,

So lift your head up from that screen,

And look around at the beauty,

That surrounds you generously.

You have only one life,

Spend it with those who,

Actually admire you as well as,

Do good for this universe

You have only one life,

Listen to the worthy,

For they are the only ones,

Whom you can trust.

You have only one life,

So fight for yourself,

For no one has got,

Any hands to give.

You have only one life,

So don’t waste it ,

Upon nit-picking the innocent ,

Or your own flesh.

You have only one life

So do good for others,

And shall the good return to you,

Under the world’s spell.

You have one life,

So go live it like there is no tomorrow!

Cruel Nights yet a Few Stars.

I tumbled down,

Deep into the darks,

I cried and cried,

That no one can save me now.

Then descended a big bright star,

Who shone divine amidst the heartless blues,

They wiped away my tears,

And soothed me to cry no more.

My eyes gazed up,

As admiration flowed down my cheeks,

My heart rumbled with love,

My hands embraced them with fond peace,

Then did I realise,

Oh so true,

That even in the cruelest of nights,

A few stars radiate their glows.

My Yashoda ,Your Krishna.

Oh Mother, My dear Mother,

I crave for your divine touch,

I desire for the transcendent feel,

Through our intertwined fingers.

Oh Mother, My dear Mother,

Thread your fingers through my hair,

And let me do the same for you,

For my heart is warm as butter,

Just for you and you only.

Oh Mother, My dear Mother,

You're bedridden day and night.

I crave for your cooking,

I long for food to be fed from your hands alone.

Oh Mother, My Yashoda,

I want to be fed butter from your own fingers.

Let me be your Krishna and lick the sweetness off,

And yearn for your butter forever.

My Sorrow;A New Tommorow.

Containers of pills laid,

Spilled upon my bed side table.

My eyes drifted towards the walls,

I wanted to bash my head against them.

My wrists looked like a canvas,

Upon which I could paint with crimson,

My chest looked like a sharpener,

Through which a knife could be slid through.

I stared up at the ceiling fan,

With a desire I dare not say.

That head of mine had honestly ,

Tired me out.

Crack my skull open,

Tear out my brain.

Look into its interior,

And there you shall see,

An empty hollow,

Where only a wilted bud remains.

Then did clouds of my sorrow,

Weep upon that bud,

It blossomed and gave rise to,

A charming new flower.

Thus did my pills,

Fade away little by little,

And then did I realise that,

My own sorrow gave rise to a new tomorrow.

Angel of The Heavens

Oh Seraphim, My Dear Seraphim,

Your beauty enlights , with its radiant hue,

Your halo shines like golden dew .

Your subtle glow of angelic lure.

Oh Seraphim, My dear Seraphim,

You thread Your fingers softly through my hair,

Transcendent grace through Tour finger tips lare,

You cradle me with divine affection,

In Your arms, I am at peace.

Hold me for a while longer, in Your embrace,

Your presence soothes me, Your love heals me.

Oh Angel of the Heavens,

Please, never leave my side.

Behind the Curtains of the Stage.

We compare, our life to theirs.

We compare, ourselves to them.

We dwell on how they’re “perfect,” and we are not.

But do they even feel perfect themselves?

We think their life is so “perfect.”

But is it really?

We can never know how they’re feeling,

Nor can we know what their actual life is like.

The only thing we do is just guess and judge,

Can’t we understand?

They could be feeling awful right now,

They could be exhausted,

They could be masking up their pain,

All just to satisfy the audience.

Let’s leave this court of comparison,

Let’s let go of this case of misunderstanding,

Take my hand and we shall see—

“Who’s perfect?” shall we?

Let’s have a look at the class topper,

The one who’s thought to be “naturally gifted,”

The one who’s not drained by complexity,

Just because of them having a “gift” of knowledge.

They don’t have any struggles—but is that really so?

Us humans fail to see those details,

Those of how burdened they are.

Those of the sleepless nights that they were up for,

Studying till the ink of their quill caressed their under eyes.

How much pressure gets put upon them,

Those of the high expectations of their performance,

Yet they still have to hold their head high,

Masking themselves up with their intelligence.

Now, take a look at the class artist,

How ambitious their strokes of creativity are,

How perfect they are at their passion,

How dedicated they are to their destiny.

They must be so aware of their admirers,

Who gaze at their paintings in awe.

They must feel so proud of themselves.

But is this really the case?

They hide their true feelings,

Behind a curtain of facade.

Until they’re pleased with work ,

Their teardrops paint,

Until the canvas reveals—

The agony of an artist.

They have made a universe of imagination,

With the principles of their mind,

Because the reality was too harsh,

For their hands to paint.

Crumbled up paper,

Filled with their talent,

Lay quietly in the corner of their dingy room,

Because the artist themselves did not see,

Their own mastery as we did.

At last, why don’t we take a look,

At the prettiest among them all,

The one who thousands envy,

Just because of their beauty.

They’re stunning, they’re gorgeous,

They’re elegant and graceful,

They walk with their chin up,

Being judged with every step.

Life's great for them,

"Pretty privilege," and all,

Isn't it?

Or is it.

We blind ourselves with the shutters of jealousy,

Glaring at them as they come in sight,

But have you wondered how,

They must have been feeling?

They're "loved," just for their appearance,

They're surround by the paparazzi,

They don't want the attention,

Give them some space to breathe.

They try to hide from them all,

Not even a second to be free,

How uncomfortable they are,

Can't you all just let them be?

Now you have seen behind,

The curtains of the stage,

The real way of how the actors feel,

The actual way of their lives.

We all are connected in this universe;

Everyone in this life have their struggles ,

We’re all perfect because well, we’re us,

So let us take a moment and understand each other,

And leave this court of comparison at last.

Insufficient of Nothing.

Perhaps you’re bothered in silent for,

People kick and shove at you while you’re on the ground.

Perhaps you call out to God and ask Them:

“Lord, why do you not save me from them?”

But let me tell you something,

You have already been saved,

From the very beginning.

That is, with your very voice that you keep quiet.

Now that you are aware,

Speak up with your divine tool,

Stand up for yourself now,

Give yourself the protection,

That you are worthy of.

Better Arrogant Than Too Kind.

There was once a nightingale who sang,

Beautiful tales with the gusts and the storms,

But the poor little bird,

Was roughed and shoved.

The Nightingale went gloomy foretold,

And flew away with a flight,

Elsewhere anew.

Then came a canary,

Who chirped divine notes,

To the gusts and the storms,

But she too was blown away and torn apart.

Finally came a skylark,

Who puffed up his chest, eyes livid,

The young fellow crooned away the dark gray shower,

And out came the rays of sunshine.

Then did the flight of birds all serenade in peace.

Our Soul's Abode; Woven Amidst Nature

My dear,

Do you really just gaze at the waters, or do you gaze upon your reflection ?

You torment yourself upon your “imperfections”,

Calling them out one by one ,

Maybe your face, or maybe your stretch marks ,

Maybe your body hair, or maybe your scars.

Yet ,

Them being imperfections-

Is it the truth?

Let’s take a look at nature ,

Filled with beautiful wonders of life ,

Mother Nature’s heed, it is,

Green with life and glee.

Graze your feet against the soft grass ,

And look far out into the cosmos ,

Gaze upon the enchanting Nebulas ,

Oh so light and radiant .

Your eyes and the Nebulas look alike, don’t they?

Now, look across the beautiful lush grasslands ,

The grass dances softly with the wind ,

Sun kissed in the golden light,

When golden hour calls .

Compare your body hair to the grass—

Aren’t they alike?

The trees sway at rain’s call ,

The thunder enlights, with its light so bright

Look up at the sky; oh so blue ,

And gaze at the thunder’s sparkling hue .

Now,

Compare your stretch marks to the thunder—

They are alike, aren’t they?

The moons calls as the sun sets ,

The sky darkens with good night’s mist ,

Make a wish for a shooting star is passing by ,

And gaze upon its beauty, oh so dazzling and bright.

Compare your scars to shooting stars —

Shooting stars are beautiful ,

So your scars are too.

Your veins are like the gorgeous rivers –

That glimmer in the sun’s light,

The one who quenches life’s thirst,

Whenever life needs.

Your body is woven amidst nature— Something a part of you to be cherished.

Nature is beautiful-

Which means,

You are too.

Yet, come to think of it, Does it really matter?

When it comes to— How we look?

Why must the outside matter-—

If a soul with the qualities of heaven,

Lie inside?

Why shall the appearance talk

If a golden heart remains within?

The body is just the abode,

It is the soul that lies within —

That matters.

Does it really matter?

When it comes to—How we look?

Because-

Our body is the one that gets us through the day,

It is the one that protects our health from the dangers,

It is the one that fights for our survival with all it’s might,

No matter how we look.

My dear,

Your body helps you and loves you oh so dearly.

Even when you reject it,

It stays with you,

Through thick and thin.

Please don’t reject your body,

Embrace it.

Because in the end,

It is the one who helps you,

It is the one who loves you,

And it is the one who stays with you,

Till the very last breath.

Madness

Alas, people have grown mad,

Alas, they’ve turned stupid!

Illogical beauty standards,

Disgusting traditions!

Some people have gone mad over body hair,

Some think fat's going to kill them.

Some think being white is pretty,

While being black is being a gangster.

Let me debunk it for them,

Having hair just means you have hair,

How does that make you ugly?

Being fat is just being fat,

How does ugliness appear in this?

Being slim is just being slim,

How does unattractiveness appear in this?

Being white is just being white,

Being black just means being black,

We have red blood either way,

Is it not?

Some torment over differences,

Some weep over being pushed away,

Some cry over foolish others,

Some lick love off knives.

Differences are what bring us together ,

Why have we made it as something foul?

My dear, why do you tear over,

Being guided to a new path?

Why do you weep over insignificants others?

The world is of bounty,

You shall find whom you deserve,

When the time comes.

Why do you feast love off knives?

There are billions upon this divine land,

Who are willing to feed you upon,

A spoon of pure gold.

Untouchability exists,

Segregation too,

Child marriage still roams,

Desperate too.

Why do we separate based on caste?

We are all human, is there much to ask?

Why do we separate based on colour?

It’s just skin and flesh, what more is there to it?

The same children,

Born to run and play,

Across golden fields,

Are being pushed to adultery,

For money is poor.

Tell me, oh dear Government,

Why have you created such a situation?

What Has The World Become.

Woman of Afghan, painted in blue,

From top to bottom, or else misery's doom.

I don’t think the Lord has ever ordered,

For society to be like this.

Segregation remains,

Insecurities too,

I don’t think Mother Nature told us,

That differences were foul.

Children are hungry,

Politicians are too,

World full of war,

But none are full.

Schools full of pupils,

The future of our world,

Die of collision,

Because a politician's hunger was due.

Bare bodies of purity,

Rest within the clouds,

Yet people have framed them as,

Bodies of wicked lare.

Eggs slip out from the maid’s, maiden’s and young one's hands alike,

They crack and shatter against the ground without a will,

Yet people say that they were clumsy,

And ask what sandals they wore.

Sometimes I stand for a moment with these,

Running through my head,

I let out a sigh and wonder,

What has the world become.

The Beauty of Love

We lay beneath,

The Divine Aurora.

Your face is illuminated,

By its spell.

I can’t help but,

Be enchanted by you.

You graze your fingers,

Against my face.

You lean in your head,

Up against my forehead.

You whisper grace,

Right into my ears.

I stumble upon my words,

As dawn paints my cheeks.

Thus I look into your eyes,

And I am met by painful celeste.

This makes my heart ache,

How come you are so beautiful?

You let out a sweet chuckle,

As you brush a thumb over my lip.

You mousily lean into a warm kiss,

So my heart starts to race.

After a moment, we rewind,

It was a divine bliss.

You let out a sheepish sigh,

As you back away in awe.

My eyes are half lidded,

As I’m wonderstruck too.

Such unforeseen beauty of love,

I’ve never experienced so.

How Are You So Perfect?

To my dear friends —

Beautiful crescents of the night,

In which stars twinkle at amusement.

Golden light bathes her plains,

Flowers bloom within it's grace.

Hair adorns her cheeks,

Like vines wounded around timber.

Poppies bloom upon her arms,

An ant's mound dots her chin.

Ah, it’s you my dear Parvati!

A tousled bob frames her face,

Dark frames border her beautiful eyes,

A pure heart of golden light,

Which can light up the midnight sky.

A whimsical beauty,

A tune of honey sweet,

Kindness engraved into the soul,

By the Divine themselves.

Ah! It’s you my dear Lily!

Their beauty is everlasting,

Their embrace is so comforting,

Knowledge graces their tongue,

They wield an inner beauty seen never before .

They spare mercy with divine affection,

They heal at a wound’s trace,

They answer at every call,

Slowly, but never wrong.

Ah, it’s You my dear Lord!

Your legacy

My dear, why do you weep?

Let me wipe away your tears.

Rise up with a dream now,

That can lead you to the stars.

You cry out that,

You can’t do it.

But let me tell you,

A little secret.

Perhaps you are in a state,

In which you think you can’t achieve,

But you've got an ambition, don’t you?

So go walk until you can run!

In this life,

If you wield a dream,

Perhaps you were meant to,

Let it free onto the canvas.

Pick up the paintbrush,

Enchant the canvas,

Pour out your heart,

Never look back.

Create the artwork,

Then shall you see,

You can paint your legacy,

As you please.

As a doe.

The buck's gaze,

Is full of obscene lust,

His fangs rage,

Full of manic haste.

A usual doe,

Dreads his gaze,

She hides away,

Into a thicket maze.

The buck continued,

His wicked quest,

And pounded on other,

Quiet little does.

One day did the doe,

Come out of that maze,

She looked at the buck,

Right into his eyes.

The fierce her veered,

And out came her hind legs,

Down came the buck,

Whose eyes splurged out with red.

Never did the buck,

Gaze at other does again,

For one kick's a gun,

Which shoots a heap.

Anger

Your mind fumes,

Your head screams crimson,

Your teeth shatter,

From gritting them set.

You claw at your palms,

As your fist prevails,

Your frown remains,

Under that veil.

Calm your mind,

Rest your head,

For anger blinds,

With it’s shutters of fiery red.

Calm your mind,

Rest your head,

For they shall burn,

Under the world’s dreadful spell.

A Tide of Crimson

I comb through my golden brown,

I swipe a dash of colour upon my lips,

I draw a wing upon my lash,

For my lover shall arrive,

As I am ardent much.

My eyes finally drift,

To my dear love,

My eyes shimmer,

My heart beats hard.

As her face comes close,

My chest spikes fond,

My face washes over with,

A tide of crimson.

Oh Lord,

This feeling is ethereal.

Like drinking sweet saké,

Right out a cool mud pitcher.

In a blink of an eye,

The earth cracks between us.

For both of us have,

Long hair,

Painted lips,

Drawn wings,

And a longing heart.

But why has this happened ?

Our hearts grow sore.

Love is love,

Opposing or not.

The earth listens,

The earth nods,

Love prevails,

So the earth rebounds.

Thus am I able to,

Reunite with my love atlast.

My heart pounds,

Again and again.

Oh Lord,

Bless me so,

Shall this feeling persist,

Forever and more.

What Have You Done?

They see hand prints,

All over their bare body.

They see shadows,

At the corners of their eyes.

They curl up in fear,

Of being touched again.

They see danger,

When there is none.

Tell me you monster,

What have you done?

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, is a prestigious platform celebrating the art of written expression. It encourages poets and writers worldwide to present their original works, allowing for a rich tapestry of voices and stories. Participants are given the opportunity to share their creative insights and connect with a global audience, fostering a thriving community of literary enthusiasts and emerging talents.

We extend our heartfelt gratitude to Debangshi Paul for her poignant contribution, "Misread," to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her work resonates with powerful emotional truths and offers a unique perspective on the complexities of human emotion. We are honored to feature such a thoughtful and evocative piece, and we look forward to seeing more from Debangshi in the future.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.