𝐒omething that no longer is, occupies words more than it has room for me, just like
𝐈n a crowded life, the memories win over the moments, just like there’s almost never a stage given to stillness
𝐋est I creep in, and suddenly, there’d be no vocabulary left to hide behind
𝐄scapes all locked away now: the feelings would desire to be named again
𝐍arrow breaths of confessions, love would question the courage, fear would desire to see the light of the day.
𝐂an’t you tell the difference? once you drift inside yourself, it’s not the noise that stays.
𝐄veryday a voice has tried to break me, and has failed.
Quarantine (=a state of enforced isolation ) by Vinetra Francisca Rodrigues
Its the first day, since tranquility has hit
The streets, the air is misty and engulfed by a Silvery hue, the aroma props memories,
Arising these ancient pages, The curtains of
This room feel a chill down their spine, the bed is groomed
The dusty old books finally find arms to carry
Their waists and bibliochor transcends the conscience
Music breeds a different song, the instruments
Weep, tears rolling down the Argentine strings
Never before has the earth lost her voice (or more, gained)
The electric forest has entered a deep slumber
That hums a latent chord, the fauna leave their dens
And sing the first hymn that strikes their soul, there’s chatter
And mirth ringing the door, Harmonies and
Symphonies are composed by withered beaks And rustling leaves. I wonder if voices
Ever felt this liberty, Is this how
They feel when the world is imprisoned
The magpie robin perches a twig
And declares he’s no longer deaf
Silence by Shalaka Kulkarni
in the galis of
there's a new
definition of silence,
and absurd feelings
in its mosques, temples
round arches, high facades
and carved ceilings
you take a
towards the bazaars
through the narrow
bylines of the Mughal tribe
and stay there.
take ten deep breaths
and inhale it's
move on to the
the heart of
catch urdu air floating
like rainbow bubbles
music of the soul,
shayaris and ghazals.
place your ears
on those patchy,
you'd take in the aroma
and hear the sound of
rotis being roasted,
jalebis being fried,
shawarmas being rolled
and chillis being dried.
slowly move on
to the other, look up,
observe the fleet
of pigeons at
every 10 meters,
and spot the one
with a bruised neck,
he used to teleport
and as you
close your eyes
the beauty of it,
in every word
of this nazm,
i hope you
find me here.
and bury me there.
a haiku by Vasvi Kejriwal
I think Beethoven
heard thunderclaps when he saw
the standing ovation.
I have spent a considerable amount of time staring at my hands, on some days
Especially when they're trembling;
I look at the lines that supposedly
Withhold my future,
I look at the scars of yesterday.
After sometime I stretch my fingers wide,
Like spider webs.
To check if they're still shaking.
And more often than not, they are,
So now I decide to write a poem instead.
Have you ever written a poem when your hands are trembling?
When all you can come up with are more synonyms for unstable.
So more often than not,I delete that poem,
I summon the verses to not exist.
They do not listen,
Neither do they speak,
They keep staring at me, silently;from the messy pages of my decrepit diary.
I'm still struggling to unlive the poems that did not help,
I'm still struggling to realize that I can't write my way into knowing better, sometimes.
That I cannot move the mess from my mind to the pages of my dingy diary
And call it cleaning,
Or even healing.
But If nothing else,
I can call it trying.
यूं ही पहलू मै बैठे रहो
आज जाने की ज़िद ना करो।
As I close my eyes I see the darkness change into a hammer
Beating against my chest
as if my heart were a nail and my body a coffin.
On nights like this unable to put myself to sleep
I walk across the room and switch the radio on,
Tonight as Farida Khanum sings, I look at her sleep.
Silence has built a wall between our eyes
And on nights like this I hurl futile words at it
In the hope that they would turn into stones and bring this wall crumbling down.
Rather they turn into black butterflies, flapping listlessly against a closed windowpane as they struggle to escape.
There is a river of apologies that runs through our bed
And we don't remember how to swim anymore.
As if we are soldiers on a battle ground
In which a cease fire has lasted long enough to forget why we were fighting at the first place.
But not long enough to forget that we are still enemies.
तुम ही सोचो जरा क्यों ना रोके तुम्हे
जान जाती है जब उठके जाते हो तुम
तुमको अपनी कसम जाने ज़ा
बात इतनी मेरी मान लो
आज जाने की ज़िद ना करो ।
And as Farida Khanum sings tonight
I wonder how do I beg someone to stay who is already here.
Lost For Words by Nina Kler
It’s 3 am
I am 19 years old
Sitting by the landline phone
You are probably still rolling a joint
I’m hoping it’s the last of the night
You were my first
Your mark was indelible
If nothing else
I hope in these times
Across the Indian Ocean
My silence speaks
Of all the languages of love
a comfortable silence,
is my favourite