Sometimes, I compare myself to a leaf. Just like the leaf swaying wherever the wind blows, I choose to let others influence my choices. I know that I should not let others take over my life, but I'm not strong enough to resist. Just like the leaf.
Sending my regards to people who suffer from mental health problems. You can do it. :)
The leaf you pressed inside your highschool book to remember the day you first fell in love. I still carry the faint smell of that dried autumn day and your once blooming heart. I have fallen in love too, with the tree that cradled me in its arms, pouring in all the gifts of earth and in return I gave what I could grab hold of the sun. I have fallen in love with the raindrops that glided down me in a swift ride, they adorned me as they gleamed, and even if they held me for a second, they gave me all the happiness a forever could ever give.
On the day I had to leave my home , I didn't know, how everything falls down in the end, so when the winds pulled me out, I thought my world crumbled down. I drifted away towards a sky that seemed to have no end, floated, waved, carried away to an open window, landed on your desk.
In all the years in this closed place I have only seen you a few times, sometimes you had a face that told me your world was crumbling too, and I wanted to tell you this is not the end, that maybe you'll change your colours, all your veins might turn stiff with time's pull, but the future has a secret for which bearing the present is worth it.
I am just a leaf... but I have been in love and made it to a place where I still carry it , so you can too.
We really need to talk, I have always been in the awe of you from the start. I wanted to know the secret of how effortlessly you just move on. Sometimes it feels you are just going too fast and seldom we feel that you have just paused. But how amusingly you fool us all by your majestic tricks. I know you are always moving ahead and I urge you to teach me the same so that I might stand long in this life-like game. We all have been always flabbergasted by your part in each of our lives and how perfectly you time mirth and melancholy to play their parts.How can you just never stop? You are an inspiration to us all,from the tot to the tall. You are the narrative to our provisional existence. From archaic humans to kings, from fossils to falls, you have seen them all.And you are the only witness of how this miraculous universe has been created and I want you to manifest it all to me. You are the surreal genie whose invisible magic lamp lies with the Almighty who controls you so ideally. Perhaps, I also wanted to know your instict about memories. Do they really exist or are just an illusion?Do they care you as they are the only unique hurdles who dare to stop you. And about carcasses, do you still control them? Rebirth and reincarnation, you are the answer to them all. I so keenly wish we could meet as you undoubtedly are the best story teller and sorcerer for over centuries and centuries. I feel even my whole life would too short to be able to seek all my answers from you. I just hope that people in our generation were also as great as a secret keeper as you are. You never let things out despite you know the answer to each and every inquiry. How calmly you prospect happenings as you didn't even plan them! At the end, I would like to say that I just want you to meet me as I am still not sure if you are the artist or you yourself are the damn art! -Ananya Srivastava
The clamour of the azaan Indiscreetly wrapped in that of the temple bells. Shafeeq's Zari Workshop Next to Sharma's tea stall. Domes, temples, and minarets And cafés, pubs, and bars. Mismatched, mixed and matched And cluttered. This city doesn't fit In the modern game. It has birds. Green, black, and blue And orange. And thousand other hues. Perching atop history. Chirping in the Corridors of Unapologetic, unappalled and poetic. And conveniently angry. These birds don't belong In this tolerant city. They have wings. And beaks and claws. They nest on symbols Of divided unities, deities and ideals And hatred. Dramatic little creatures They rise with an uproar Sit on live wires And defile, in equal proportions Every quiet, clamour-free Morning and evening. Ever since they nested In this beautiful city The bird's eye view Is no longer beautiful.