The Gift

Through darkened hidden alleys,
with shadows of stranded desires,
the seeking searching silent form,
crosses those never-ending passages.

Walls so high and reach so low,
that heavens' gift to earth,
the sole gift of light and hope,
cannot penetrate the dissillusioned shields.

Then, strikes a lightening bolt,
the camouflaged barely human form,
is outlined against the dark aura,
and the lost gift softly seeps through.

Streaming in, the spring waters of freshness,
illuminate those concealed alleyways,
watering the dying roots of dreams,
which once to the fullest blossomed.

The first touch of the gift,
on a forgotten barely human soul,
frees the long captured thoughts,
and reborn are the wiltering flowers,
buried in which, live the dreams too.

The opening to the skies above,
welcomes with it, starry sparks,
tottering along in an impatient search,
of the gentle breeze, the amourous wind,
to carry itself into a full-fledged flame.

Secretly though, also finds entry,
a corrupted thorn of sharpened fear,
the corner ahead and a new path,
and those unexpected dark streets,
where the illuminated bolt,
might give not way, to light again.

Neha

The Awards Ceremony (Fiction)

And now we are going to announce the winners of our literary competition

My mind has become focused only on those words, and the world around me sounds like a buzz in the background. I have spent the last six months pondering over how I could have done. My poems are a door to my soul, and those poems’ being appreciated gives me an inexplicable high. I feel as if my soul has been liked and therefore, my being myself has been well accepted. I wait for my name to be called out. The wait grows longer and each second becomes longer than eternity. The sound of my name wants to reach my ears, like a lover longs for his love…

But that name never comes… My heart has fallen into the depths of gloom and a depression has swept and spread over me like a stain of ink spreads through a white cloth. Why wasn’t I chosen? Weren’t my thoughts good enough? The doorway to my soul hasn’t been opened and my thoughts are still captured within.

Happy faces of innocent beings surround me, and still I feel deserted in the sea of happiness. My mind cannot think beyond failure. The ceremony is going on, but my brain has stopped. Around me, I see those who have been awarded, and a pang of jealousy has crept up all over me. I feel an immense inferiority complex. Could I ever succeed in anything? I see my whole life flashing past me. There has always been someone who surpasses me in whatever I do. If I had 99.6 % in a subject, there was always somebody who scored a perfect 100%!

I draw myself away from the crowd…the crowd where I could see tranquility and satisfaction. The corner where I stand at is like a wall between me and the rest of the world. I find myself secluded. One by one everyone’s name is called out and with a twinkle in their eyes and a smile on their faces, they accept their awards. They are congratulated on the way back and their victory is shared by everyone. While I stand alone in the corner, a thrill is roaming through the delighted atmosphere.

And the last award for best short story goes to…

Nandini Rai… The sound rings in my ears and echoes through my whole body. I had given up hope by now…could this really be happening or is it yet another of my senseless illusions? My spirits soar up as I fuse through the crowd towards my award. My poems hadn’t been applauded, but that didn’t matter anymore. “What I call home”, my story has touched people and that’s all that satisfies me now. My thoughts were not in vain after all! More than pride, I can sense relief. I was am an outsider after all…

As I settle in my seat at the heart of the crowd, I find myself merging into that background buzz. Words, sounds sentences, laughs…they can all be distinguished now. The awards continue on, but I don’t expect anything more. Satisfaction splurges inside me and I don’t want anything more than lending my pride to my parents. Their happiness would only multiply my happiness by several notches!!

Once again, time has come to a standstill as I wait for the function to come to an end. Impatience and restlessness takes took over my mind. Pacing up and down seemed to be the most logical way to release my trapped energy, but the consideration of others around me has chained me to my seat.

And the award for Faculty Student of the Year goes to…

Nandini Rai! ... Unlike the last time, this time I feel numb. My best friend standing next to me, pushes me forward but my feet seemed to be weighing a thousand ton! The applause rings in my ears yet again and I catch hold of some of my senses, enough to walk up to the center of the stage, stretch out my right hand and display a grateful smile. Walking back seems to be an even more challenging task as on the way I have to stream through congratulating voices. Since I seem to have lost my own voice somewhere, all I can do is smile and nod like a spring-necked doll.

Did I deserve this? I didn’t find an answer to that question, but what I did find was a voice inside my head. A soft, angelic voice that is only saying one word…Hope! I can sense clarity, clearer than a glass lake. Giving up had cost me my smile, my hope. A smile lost once can be easily regained, but hope has to pass through many obstacles and tests to return to where it once belonged. I am sure of one thing now…that my mind has now become the permanent home of Hope.

My thoughts have finally been freed, but Hope is now captured for life!!

The Death of A Dream

Through a whimsical and frisky
Discreetly passing thought,
Is conceived the first seed,
Of a faint hope so sought.

The passion and wishes,
Mingle in the silks of mind,
And procreate a magical vision,
Blessed to a being of an enchanted kind.

As visions adjoin one at a time,
The growth of a hope becomes mature,
Becoming a glittering shining dream,
That the embracing eyes gladly endure.

Then the skies of fate hit,
Blinding lethal streaks strike,
Which sheer the heart and soul,
Of the infant dream and hope alike.

The crash comes quicker than,
A vigilantly designed pack of cards,
And soon it’s the moment when,
The dream is sliced to miniscule shards.

The infant of a hope struggles,
Gasping for air from a life-bubble,
But death is all that bursts into light,
From the broken choking rubble.

The inert corpse of a dream,
Bids a departing soul adeau,
Into a world of heartless entity,
A place called stark Reality.

Neha

Ideal Day

Its exam blues again!
You know what i've always noticed...my creativity seems to really spike up when i'm just 2-3 days away from an important exam! I know, I know, bad girl, very very bad! But heck, You try to study integral calculus, Cost Functions and Forces of Interest for a week and you'll know what the Real meaning of the word "boredom" is!! So to vent out my utter disinterest in books right now, here I am, imagining some example of what I would consider my Ideal Day!

Here goes...

My ideal day has nothing to do with an early morning! Since I find it quite painful to wake up at the crack of dawn, my idea of a perfect day starts around..lets say...10ish. On this day, I would wake up, and find a big mug of tea by my bedside, with spiraling smoke gently steaming out of it. I would stay in bed, slowly sipping my tea, as someone ( Anyone ..) would come and draw the blinds, welcoming the pleasant morning sunlight into my room, and the gentle cool breeze, which would bring with it the whiff of freshness.

After a luxurious few moments of slowly sipping tea, and just looking out of the window, I'd get out of bed...and ideally, not be lazy enough to avoid getting ready right then. So yeah, I'd take a long hot shower, and of course, sing to my heart's desire while doing that for as long as I please. After that, I'd choose my favourite clothes from the wardrobe..that is a kurta top and a pair of jeans, then I'd calmly choose my costume jewelry, brush my hair, which btw, on my ideal day would choose to behave themselves and be long and wavy without being untidy! Then, I'd just slip into a pair of comfy slip-on sandals, yes cuz im basically too lazy to even wear anything that would involve me making an effort to put them on!

Having taken my time getting ready, I'd leisurely stride into the kitchen, where btw, my breakfast would be ready and waiting for me. I dont know how...but yeah, it just would! And what would it be? Hmm...Yup..my favourite..Fried egg and toast! To finish off, there would be cold-coffee with lots of foam and ice ready for me to gulp down!

Ok, breakfast done. Now its the perfect time ( yes, everything is perfect on this day!) to call my friends and find out what they're doing. I would call, and naturally, on my ideal day, they would all be free and excited at any idea I suggest. And what do I suggest? Yes... a picnic at the park!

As I'd wait for my picnic-basket to be ready ( Uffo, told you na, don't ask me how or who does it...it just happens!), I'd turn on my computer..oh and of course since everything's going to be perfect, its going to be my new super cool laptop..which has Bose speakers accompanying it :p! Then, I'd listen to my favourite music while I check my mail and of course, my forgotten blog! I'd also chat with some of my friends online for sometime, and by the time i'm done, the lunch-basket would be ready.

Carrying the lunch, I'd go out, grab my bicycle, fit the basket in the carrier, and pedal off. There would be a very soothing breeze blowing my hair back and gently brushing by me, as I ride through a shaded secluded road which would lead to the park. The park itself would at the edge of a forest, with lots of shaded and rocky closures, a little tiny lake, and bicycle track cutting right through the middle of the dense forested area, which echoes with the sound of chirping birds.

After cycling for a bit, I'd find my group of friends, sitting under a huge tree, on the soft plush green grass, right by the lake, with sparkling clean water. I would arrive there, park my bike and start the chatter, which btw, would go on and on and on. We'd laugh, talk, tease each other, sing, play music, run around trying to catch each other. We'd play games like little kids, eat like hungry teenagers and ramble about ourselves like long-long adults. Then, after a while, we'd get a bit tired of the talking, so i'd pick a couple of my closest friends and maybe go for a stroll with them. Or, we'd all just decide to be quiet for a while, listening to soft melodious old Hindi music, which would fill the air with the magical feeling of serenity. In that case, i'd just find a quiet corner near the lake, put my feet in the welcoming water, and take out a piece of paper and a pencil, and draw whatever comes to my mind. With the music and silence to inspire me, even my sketch would come out to be just as I desire!

However, even on my perfect day, good things would have to come to an end. Come dusk, and we'd all pack up our picnic-stuff and ride off on our bicycles. We'd all decide to drop off our baskets and extra picnic-stuff home, and meet at a certain place in about half an hour's time. So, I would just get home, wash my face, change into some warmer nicer "night" clothes...which would be black btw, and just when I'd be done, my friends would come pick me up in their car.

We'd drive off to a shopping mall, which will be far enough for me enjoy the drive for a while, and close enough to not spend too much time in the car. After getting there, while some of us would browse the biggest clothes' store in the mall, others would go and get tickets for the night show of some really nice romantic-comedy which would be showing at the multiplex. We'd all then meet at the food-court, grab a quick bite to eat and settle in to watch a movie. The movie, of course, would be very sweet, very funny, very romantic and Not lame at all! So we'd all enjoy it ( yes..ALL..even the guys!) and come out of the theatre happy! Then, we'd decide to go to one of our houses, for coffee!

We'd pick the biggest and nicest house to go to, which obviously wouldnt have pesky neighbours to shut us up, cuz of course, we would be very noisy. There, with the hot coffee brewing, the guitar would come out again. We'd sip hot brewing coffee, with chocolate chip cookies ( heck why not!) and sing the best of the best songs that we can recall! Time would just fly and when it would be around 4ish in the morning, and my eyes would be drooping of sleep, one of my friends, would just offer to drop me home.

So i'd be dropped off home...and end the day crashing in my soft warm cosy welcoming bed, after looking out of the window for the last time...at the twinkling little diamonds in the sky and the smiling shining bright full moon. Before finally switching off my bed-lamp, I'd just write 4 words in my personal diary..."I love my Life"...

Ah...
Yes, thats it, thats my Ideal Day..and so what if its too impractical..so what if i'm too dreamy..and hope for too much...so what if i Know that such a day may not ever come in my life...I can still dream right?

So yeah..this was my Ideal Day...what's yours like?

Cliffs and Friends

The final steps to an end,
And not alone do I stand,
People came along as I strode,
The friends who hold my hand.

Together we crossed the breezy shores,
And united we raced the gushing stream,
Passed such paths of rocks and dust,
Which to cross alone I could only dream.

Rifts were there as cliffs were formed,
Mountains of steal we stood aside,
A blue quivering stripe of water,
Between the cliffs forever reside.

The string of blue broadened up,
As the mountainous cliffs it intersects,
What would be before barely seen,
Into a mighty river it collects.

The stream and river given a name,
Would friendship be for instance known,
As thin it does between the rift,
But flowing and full it sheers the zone.
The rift closes as mountains meet,
And the stream of rich green-blue,
Gushes with the utmost force,
Forming a fall so strong and clean.

Once again the friendship blooms,
Stagnant and drained, down and away,
With cliffs of feeling and love,
And sturdy mountains welcoming another day...

The Waiting Room

I don't lead a very exciting life. Like any other teenager, I indulge in the regular little fancies of daily life, that bring momentary sparks of pleasure into my inconsequential existence. I havent achieved any major goals as yet, and dont really think have experienced enough in this world to have any authority to talk about "life" in general. What I can do however, is share some thoughts and ramblings about the mini-version of the life that i've seen.

As I view it, Life is the waiting room of a secluded railway station. People come and people go, they stay a while, talk and chat and share and relax...then with the next train of events, next carrier of destiny, move out of that stationary room in your heart, leaving behind some memories, some belongings, some riminscience of their brief encounter. Some stay longer than others, and some just come and go and are forgotten as the next change of passengers come into the room. Sometimes, the waiting room is full of interesting folk, who share a few moments of joy, or maybe even sorrow. At other times, its just a vacant space, waiting for the next train to come and fill its emptiness.

Most people that spend time in the room, share stories. Stories of old and new times, of good and bad moments, of pain and elation. While its raining outside, these people sit and sip steaming hot tea, eat a few crushed snacks of their tied up bundles and suitcases. Some instead, choose to just stay in one corner alone, and lie on the wooden waiting chairs, maybe sleeping, maybe just trying not to make their presence felt. Eventually, they all know that these are just a few moments, between the complicated time-tables of busy trains, that they will get to spend in this station. They know, that come the time of the next train, carefully picking up their modest treasures, they will leave. What they might take is a couple of number, contacts...which might also just eventually get lost somewhere in those millions of loose sheets of unused paper piles, which hold the remains of meetings similar to the one in this waiting room. There...here's the next train...move on...

Then there are those passengers whose mere existence leaves a mark on the mind...a mark so permanent that no amount of change can wipe it out. But, as is quite obvious, such passengers of life are few, rare and far between. They might even just spend an hour's time in life's waiting, but even that little time spent together etches such a rock-solid image on the walls of the room, that not even the pureness of watery tears can wash away these images. So deep are the footsteps, that they entwine with the basic roots of existence. These few people in life are what remain, even after they have caught their next train, in the essence and aura of the waiting room...

...The waiting room...which I call Life.