ENGLISH POETRY

The grudge

“The sacred space ,the silent trust we made
A solemn promise now brutally betrayed
The bond we shared,that friendship we had ,was all a sham
A clever performance, a long and elaborate scam
I had to bite the bullet ,learn to live with the pain,
As you took the aim and made it rain
You had to bury me just to get your crown
The truth of it all , a final brutal test,
The phrases you said came back to me
A fierce ricochet for the world to see
You knew where to strike, how to make the wound deep
Of course you’d knew cause you were the one with all my secrets to keep
You promised to protect them ,to hold them as your own
But you chose to convert my sanctuary into a battlefield
And then a sudden flash an epiphany cold and sharp
A revelation of monster that you truly are
The public facade ,the sweet lies,the friendship you claimed
Was a blatant manipulation a twisted game
You were never a friend,you were something so much worse
A wolf in sheeps clothes
A soul crushing curse
And now I can go anywhere I want just not home
Because you turned it to something I would no longer roam
The laughter the secret the understanding we had
You became a weapon,a kind of hurt that’s so sad
Now my tears ricochet”

~Sahana Pahwa

Her

“her “”insecurities”” “”flaws”” made her sit at the back
watched her vanish into the crowd itself
so here’s something-

she really thinks her scars are meant to shame
but every mark tells how actually she came

she looks herself in the mirror and suddenly turns away
thinking her flaws could get in the way

her trembling hands and doubtful eyes
hold deeper truths than shallow lies

she calls herself broken and small
but those little pretty spots are the strength of it all

she depicts her voice too soft
but this gentle tone can actually move us all

she thinks her smile bends the wrong way
yet it lights the darkest part of the day

she thinks she’s less much more
a hidden fire and oh, a secret core

her beauty isn’t her weakness, not rented or planned
it lives in her flaws, like beetles in the sand

her actual beauty lives not in disguise
but yes in the truth behind her pretty eyes

so whenever she doubts
let her be told
her flaws are silver
they shine like gold

so let her know
let her believe
the love she gives
not everybody can receive

she thinks she’s none, but she’s something rare
a soul too deep for the world to compare

so as everybody, she’s not perfect and that is her art
a beautiful mess with a strong heart

let her grow, shine and rise
we all are like just another
let’s keep this glory safe and alive

~Harshit Sharma

Is it love or just an illusion?  

You say you love winter, yet you always light a fire to keep warm.  

You say you enjoy summer, yet you never step outside on sunny days.  

You say you love the rain, yet you hide beneath an umbrella whenever it falls.  

You say you love autumn, yet the season makes you sad.  

How can I trust that you love me when your actions contradict your words?  

I’m afraid to fall for you, because what if your love is as illusory as everything else you do………

~Abhimanyu Bhardwaj

with the heaviest hearts 

I like to think that when a woman loves, she carries entire galaxies in the softest corners of her heart.

She finds poetry in the smallest things

the warmth of tea shared on a rainy evening,

the quiet way his eyes speak when words fall short,

the prayers she whispers into the night, asking the heavens to keep him safe.

I like to think she found not just love, but a soul who saw her storms and her sunlight,

her strength and her softness — and chose her, entirely.

In a world obsessed with perfection, women in love remind us that the most beautiful endings

are woven from little things — patience, care, and a love that asks for nothing but to give.

Because when a woman loves, she does not love halfway.

She loves with her heart, her soul, her breath.

And in that love, she builds a forever, 

a place where even the heaviest hearts can finally rest.

~ Abiya Sajid

Suitcase of Forgotten yesterday 

It is time
It is finally time
To shine up the passport
And bring out the suitcase from the worn-down she

I stare at the empty suitcase
And wonder how much of your childhood to put in the interior compartment space
I’m nervous to see you
But I won’t let it show on my face

Your once upon a time favorite yellow dress
Or your old ratty oversized t-shirt with which you had a severe case of separation anxiety
Would still like it if I bring it with me?

Your old CD’s
Old photographs
Our battered family album
Should I pack them or has the process of moving on finally begun?

The race car bed you inherited from your brother
The posters of celebrities on the wall
Your childhood bedroom is a museum of everything you once loved
Tell me, my dear, does their absence still makes you sad?

The blanket that you carried around the house
The markings on the wall recording your increasing height
Every door here has been slammed in a worthless argument or a long-time brewing fight

Birthdays and funerals
Good days and bad
Days that made you happy and sad
Should I leave them here or should I pack?

Your superhero themed cup
Your collection of comic books
Your journals in which you hoped that one day you would become better

Broken friendships
Broken hearts
This house has seen it all
It has seen you grow
It has seen you fall

This house is everything you once where
The only place where you can still be a girl
For now as a woman, you drift through the world
This house still awaits your return

And I know it’s wrong of me to ask
But don’t grow up so fast
Yes, change is necessary and good
But I hate it
Because it sent you away from me so far

The suitcase is ready to be filled
Of thousands of memories and things you need
Tell me my dear which version of you do you need

I’ll bring your favorite food
Your favorite clothes
I’ll hug you again very soon
I’ll take my hand through your hair
Soon we’ll be re united again
As soon as this suitcase is filled with our love, support and hugs
Until then just hang in there, especially when life gets rough

~ Pujita Ganotra

Love’s Reality Check

In a world of love’s messy game,
i don’t buy into romance’s fame
happy being on my own,
yet sometimes wish I wasn’t alone.

I picture someone always near,
to stay, to hold, to really hear
A friend who gets my every part
stands by me, won’t ever break my heart.

But these dreams are just made-up tales
in real life, love often fails
hooked up story where love is so bright
where everything just feels so right
there’s a time when I was on cloud 9
but now I’m just questioning my life

In fiction love might be a shinning star ,
a guiding light things are hard
but my friend reality often hides behind,
real life love are just excuses made by hearts unkind

i’m not against of love’s sweet embrace ,
but how it’s seen, I just can’t face
it’s neither a fling nor a fleeting show
it’s shown in action that we know.

I want a bond that deep and true
that doesn’t fades after a few
a love’s that real that’s real in what we do
not just a story that’s untrue

So here I am, hearts in my sleeves,
not anti-love but I believe
i’ll fight against the shallow view
for a love, that’s real, pure & true

~Srishti joshi

Girl In The Sky

In the bright blue sky,
I see a girl, Hanging by the rope,
Stuck in the air

Motionless she’s waiting,
Looking at the ground,
As if she was staring,
Scaring people around

She’s wearing no clothes,
Blood’s all around her,
She’s an old lady,
All the souls hanging around her

Hanging in front of everyone,
People who knew her,
People who cherished,
Now enjoying hearing her last death wish

In the state of her crying husband,
The burning log came around,
Letting the flames eat her alive,
Letting the screams rise and rise

The death was a perish,
All the blood had dried,
The husband had gone blind
With all his crying

Her ashes flew around the places,
To the depth of the earth,
Hell was the next home for her,
Scared and burnt for all years

~Arnav Chopra

Moon Spots (Freestyle)

Ay yo,
I got a job recently, but I’m afraid I might get the sack,
I put in all the efforts, but my boss thinks I’m whack.


No time to relax, all my actions, scrutinised, under attack.
And from what all I’ve shown (Shawn),got my heart broken like Michaels,
and I’m Mendes, except there’s definitely something holding me back.

It’s filthy, the kinda stuff that is up there in this old noggin’
You should see the scenarios I’ve made! , promise you they’ll be mind boggling.

I’m on top of the world, but I’m actually in my room,
Sitting by myself, but ain’t no talking being done to the moon.

And my moon is close, but still it’s extraterrestrial,
On a pedestal, above all else – celestial.

Screaming at me from afar, “I’m the best that you’ll
Get in this world, after all those failed chances.”
So what do I do? I start swinging satellites around, repeatedly doing these dances

Getting high off of the feeling of being wanted, being in trances
And I realise this isn’t the 20th century, but I sure do feel like a Romantic.

For the unaware, these were the guys who wrote about why life is worth living,
At a time when razors got an upgrade, open minded drives were in ,and a fat man was doing the giving.

Messed up, ain’t it? Nope, that’s just literature.
Rhyming about your pain and giving others a kick – that’s the signature.

So I can chase the moon all I want, but at the end of the day, it’s the sun that shines.
And after I’m done with my life chasing all these fancies, all I gotta do is find my way back home to the divine.

Peace out!

~Rishabh Bhatnagar