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Poetry Month: SILENCE

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

chandni chowk,

there's a new

definition of silence,

and absurd feelings

in its mosques, temples

and havelis,

round arches, high facades

and carved ceilings

you take a

step closer

and walk

towards the bazaars

of dilli-6


through the narrow

bylines of the Mughal tribe

and stay there.

take ten deep breaths

and inhale it's

vibrant vibe.

move on to the

the heart of

old houses,

catch urdu air floating

like rainbow bubbles

music of the soul,

intertwined in

shayaris and ghazals.



place your ears

on those patchy,

color worn,

sandstone bricks,

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

our letters.

this unkempt,

chaotic paradise,

is peace,

is tranquility.

and as you

close your eyes

to consume

the beauty of it,

in every word

of this nazm,

so endear

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



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