You.

 

As my eyes crack open with the first ray of sunlight,

My hands, they reach for your frame.

And they caress you and touch you all over,

And every morn’ it’s the same.

 

With the tips of my fingers against your naked skin,

I often feel your latent heat.

And I know it hasn’t been so long,

But without you, my days are incomplete.

 

My eyes reflect the glow of your face,

Numerous times throughout the day.

And for all my questions, you have the answers,

You have something or the other to say.

 

You’ve seen the skeletons in my closet,

And there is no other, who knows as much or more.

You know my darkest secrets, my guilty pleasures,

What I hate, what I adore.

 

My companion, a roommate,

You are my chaperone.

My comrade, a friend,

My mobile phone.

 

By Rohan Sahni (Head Editor, Poetry)

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The Sea and My Lover

Sometimes I look into my lover’s eyes

and I find the seas in him.

He’s got mysteries

as deep as the salty water itself

behind those eyelids.

 

His glare brings back

memories of the storms he’s survived

and I often find myself

floating on those sparkling eyes,

sometimes even trapped at the bottom.

 

And every time I look at him

I drown in his sea of stars

like a sailor greeting death.

He is my sea, and I am his sunken ship,

slowly dissolving into him to be lost forever.

 

My lover is the sea and the sea is my lover.

 

By Ashna Mathur (Poetry)

Unheard

I scream unheard
I give signals unseen
I am here unaware.

The Tweets of the cuckoo’s indistinct song,

Hushed Vibrations are sung.
Nature’s peace in which all senses collapse
Become a show with words muffled.

I passed the test but didn’t,
I ran the race but walked,
I cried but remained queit ,
I was quoted.

Maybe they walk beside us
Those we lost in time
But unseen and unheard
We feel their aura
We think absurd
Actions speak louder than words.

By Ansh Sethi (Poetry)

Musafir

By Rohan Sahni, Poetry Editor, Paprikashta

wanderer-455338_960_720

Source Link: https://pixabay.com/static/uploads/photo/2014/09/21/17/56/wanderer-455338_960_720.jpg

I am what they call a wayward soul,
And there is no one land I can call home.
I find peace in unknown tongues,
And so I roam, so I roam.

I feel at ease before foreign winds,
And sands of other places.
And strangely I feel familiar,
Before unfamiliar faces.

A wanderer, a loner,
They think I’ve lost my way.
These rooted trees wouldn’t understand,
There’s no one place I want to stay.

Imperfections

(By Aishvarya Srivastava, Poetry Editor, Paprikashta)

In the quest to attain perfection ,people generally forget to cherish the essence of life. They forget that it’s not about the destination,but it’s about the journey.They strive for excellence in the most nugatory things and a slight gaffe in it,gets them all worked up and hassled.One piece of advice to all the pedants out there:It’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than be absolutely boring.

There were several things people said about me ,

Earlier I noticed ,but then I just let it be.

My frizzy hair,my fanatical walks and talks,

How I always chose shorts over dresses and frocks.

Spilling and spoiling things became my forte in no time,

To me,breaking of glasses created more music than wind

chimes.

I wasn’t the popular one among the gang,

But I found ample branches for me to hang.

I’m imperfect in every way you can envisage ,

I’m just a small girl who dreams of making it large.

Everyone is perfect in their own imperfections,

Their real beauty is then only reflected in every section.

Flaws act as the treasure trove in our  journey,

Sometimes the sky is cloudy,but mostly it’s sunny.

We all are an alluring and a wonderful wreck,

That’s what connects us, we are so beautifully imperfect.

To leave me?

(By Ansh Sethi, Poetry Editor)

 

You are still present in my doubt,

I can taste you in my mouth.

Everyday seems like a lie,

your love taught me how to die.

I am the selfish ghost

Can Listen to all your lies

Like a jet streaming high.

Some more I can take

Till you wake me again.

I can still hear your words

I can feel your presence here

you seemed to be a living paradox.

being the reason of silence in my catacombs

you gave me love, love for free

the girl which world set free

the girl that time forgot.

when you walked away,

you  came one step closer to me

Were you cut enough to bleed?

Were you cut enough to leave?

 

Saree

(By Ashna Mathur, Poetry Editor, Paprikashta)

I see her,

strolling across the room,

gracefully.

With a tail following her,

sweeping her footsteps off the floor.

She’s dressed like a goddess,

pure white satin draped on her body.

She rests some on her shoulder,

and holds a bit on her elbow,

lightly.

As the wind blows,

the wisps of her hair,

that refuse to stay tied,

fly,

along with the cloth,

she’s wrapped herself in.

She looks,

mesmerising,

like an angel descended onto earth,

just to bless us with the grace

of her delicate movements.

As the cloth dangling,

from over her shoulder,

touches the ground,

heads turn

and breaths stop.

Oh, she looks beautiful in a saree.