Going to college almost everyday,

Craving for home once again,

Feels like a routine now.

You know that it’s a routine,

When you’re able to sustain everything with just 3 to 4hrs of sleep.

When every morning you’re able to enter your hostel gate with just one tap now.

When you can directly walk into your lecture halls by simply following the lines.

When taking the initiative in things is no more an excitement to you,

When you’ve actually left your friends behind, far behind, where you don’t even talk anymore.

When you want to relive all those moments which are merely memories now.

When your homesickness never ends.

Harshita

When & And

When inspiration kicks you in the face,

And your affluent vocabulary simply refuses to flow

 

When your eyes are devoid of any emotion,

And your soul wanders aimlessly like a miserable minstrel.

 

When your migraine pulses like a predator hidden in the plains,

And your glasses insist on crossing the bridge called nose

 

When your neck is as stiff as stone from sitting still and typing away,

And your hands crave for the feel of writing with a pen once more.

 

When your well-oiled train of thoughts gain in rust,

And your face can’t stop twitching in hyperactive rebellion

 

When you feel a flu bug struggling to defeat your immunity to sickness,

And your heart is numb from muscles kept still too long.

 

When every single fibre of sound agitates your subconscious,

And the clock ticks, awaiting your friend’s impending arrival

 

This is what you do.

Varna

Her True Self

The stormy night stood unwavering

Bold and fearless with all its might

Harsh winds destroying everything in its path

Fear surrounding its arrival

People running to their shelters

Leaving the storm all alone to

Wreak havoc in its wake

But in their fear, the people failed to see her true self

Her center being calm as ever

She creates a force around herself

Her might rendered only to protect herself

Rendering the wrath of patient Mother Nature

The mother who is always calm

Until it hurt to a point, where she can’t hold back

Not without reminding her children to correct their path

To become more human and less like monsters

Stepping over others, devaluing people

She makes them kneel before her

To remind them that they are meniscal

Beneath her wrath, lies her love

But in her fear, the people fail to see her true self.

Anushka

The Glass Jar

Hiding her feelings, she puts on an emotionless face

Her joy, her love, her sorrows, her anger trapped in a glass jar she kept hidden

Afraid that if she shows her glass jar to the world

It will be broken again.

Her moments of happiness will be lost once again

Facing death at a young age

She stood alone, facing the worst of the world.

Just once, she said to herself, just once

“Let me let go, let love guide me”

Just today, a jar was given to her

Filled with the rhythm of warmth and comfort

Covered with the seal of love

Its beating glass giving her the protection she needed

But now, with love standing in front of her, will she recognize it?

Will she see it and take the helping hand held out to her?

Will she feel the love she once lost again?

Will she find her strength to show her glass jar?

Or will her fear trap her in?

Anushka

The Resistance

That mind of hers was crazy, her soul wild

She oppressed them with a childlike mentality

She was simply lonely.

And this was the only place that did not make her feel as such

People came and left, similar to the ones in her life

No stranger she was to estrangement, yet somehow in here

Her heart was at peace, her brain preoccupied

It helped keep her creeping insanity at bay

Why couldn’t they understand her desperate pleas?

Did she have to get on her knees?

Was profit all that mattered to them?

What about the happiness of the people in that place?

Sure, her being there had no benefit to them

And so, she was forced out for refusing to leave

But still, she didn’t see anything wrong

In not wanting to leave the supermarket.

Varna

Once upon a starry night,

A pendulum of forbiddenness,

crept into the soundness of mind.

The prisoners rejoiced

And the free-willed wept.

The bilateral motion of right and left

blurred the lines between.

Drained and deadening,

the pendulum unwired.

But the forbiddenness lay waiting.

Shannen

Stay

The most ironic part of love,

Is that both sides,

Are meant not to have a proper closure,

No matter how hard both are trying,

One is accepting, while the other is feeling guilty

One is hurting, while the other is being selfish

 

At that moment, you’d asked me,

“How do I get closure?”

I replied,

“Just stay.”

Wenny Joe