The Black Hole 

Steal me? Can you heal me? 
Broken in verses, from all the love.

Feel me? Sense my dreams and deeds,

With time that bleeds out of our singularities. 
Not a song, holding on,

All my words, were so wrong,

Where I would belong? 
Steal me? Can you heal me? 

I am calling out the verses of my empty thirst,

Believe me? 

I don’t need cigarettes,

And ashes,

And screaming,

And lashes.

But, you,

The divine empty skies,

And the rhyme of the time.

 

Steal me? Can you heal me? 

I am lost in love, with the universe,

With lies and lust,

With broken trust.

Of all that hurts,

Of all that burns,

You, stay dead,

You, the infection in my head.

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The Stars on her Black Dress

Almost a decade and there she hides,

Underneath the open skies.

Cognition failed to read her eyes,

When she glared upon the flawless night.

 
Another decade further drags of space elongating with time,

And there she hides, underneath the smoke in the skies,

The stars, she adored had locked their doors,

No cognition could now suffice,

For she fell in love, with a man who drew a tiny light

To heal the haze of the smoky night.

 
A few years to heal her lies,

A few kisses to fade her mind.

She was lost, from her journey to the stars,

For the light of the man was oblivion to let her feel the raging scars.

 
And then one night he left her there,

In the dark wilderness,

In love, dejected in despair.

She screamed, she cried,

She was lost in the dark night,

For no light and cognition could foretell her the dreamy lies.

 
It has been months, in the wild,

And I hope somehow, she reads this rhyme.

If not the black ink,

Then her own black threads,

The dress she wears in the dark times,

Will remind her of the decades that died.

 
When the glimpse of hope will hit her dress,

The spark will reflect the forgotten breath,

And when she reads,

Or when she stalls,

The glimpse will guide her to the hall.

 
Almost a decade and there she used to hide.

Never to be known,

Talking to the stars in the night.

 
This is where the ink shall dry,

The darkness shall collide,

And her face shall meet the dying the night,

With tears in her eyes,

She admires the stars,

With tears in her eyes,

She redeems the truth in her past.

 
Here, she lies underneath the skies,

Talking to the child, that was lost in the wild.

No drugs, no cognition can heal her eyes.

For, there is no flaw in the night.

 

 

 

 

Photography by SUBHI SACHAN

She has been the inspiration to many of the blogs on this website. Check out her amazing work here

Pensieve Of Memories

The chamber of Albus Dumbledore,

Never truly exhibited matter,

It transcended from an aura to another,

From an eye to the mind.

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Within the bloodstream,

Interstellar to the eye,

There rest a memo of the nights,

A canvas of mystical lies,

A pensieve of time.

The hold is called upon to breathe the sea,

A stream of possibilities and dreams,

Named the soul by some,

She fills and drains through each sleep.

The substance is not to be believed,

Not liquid, not gas, not a dream.

The soul is just, asleep,

Floating through the memories.

Albus, Severus and others live through the stone,

Wandering as the gods of unknown,

A sense that elaborates no sense,

Shall weave the universe onto the redemption of each thread.

Sketch by Vaibhav Gupta

A Meshed Poetic Dream

A wizard in Black, a witch in Blue,

The magic of love blended with their doom.

To let this world be, the colours had to die,

For dreams have no space for blinding lights.

 

For their wands could hold the ocean,

And their words could cease the stars,

They held this dream to last,

To let the sleep mend their swollen hearts.

 

Their power so immense, their misery so pure,

When they would kiss, the moon would adore.

The ocean would pour out into the air,

And ask the mended fire to play fair.

 

The fire once born, was not a charm,

Created by the magician, held by the harm.

The blue would burn, The black would bleed,

The ocean would dry, to quench their need.

 

How cold, the flame to hold them close,

How bright, they burn, with the love in their bones,

The moon would rest, the wind would test

The fire shall still burn the holy flesh.

 

Alas, with only the fire and the night,

Dawn shall break the burning ice.

They wake up, entangled in their heads,

Two poets, one dream, to detest.

Two poets, one dream, the mesh.

 

 

Veiling Vices’ Virtues

A violin is set to play,

You are in this beautiful white dress,

Gloves creeping their way to your arms,

A hat hiding the flow of thoughts,

A veil on the face, enclosing its beauty.

 

Here I am, playing the songs in my head,

Suffocated from the flesh,

Where do I look,

When the ocean is enveloped by the sky and I rest in space,

Soon the song will stop and we go home.

 

The place where the secrets don’t settle,

Where bodies are naked and beauty proclaim the universe,

Where we can fall for each other, in the eyes, the deep blues,

No space or sky to resist the flow of my sight.

 

It is simply soothing, the coffee and your skin,

I never liked the sweet taste of hope,

Just the little sour, I adore.

So here we are, hand in hand, no clothes to bind and blind,

Let just lay, till they know we are drunk on coffee,

Till they go home.

Photograph by Anjali Sharma

Check out her amazing work here

 

My Dear Leo

The time has come where the ink shall reach the land,

Where you sit in peace, where you preach power.

How beautiful, the crown of wind, how majestic;

And you residing as the angle to hold the man.

 

Storms, they tend to have their way,

And the sand does not go with the fur of elegance,

My dear, how you make the cyclones to woe the sand?

How you assemble the serenity in the sorrow,

Roar in the rare dark caves of your mind.

 

All to escape through the light colors that delight,

Fourteen lines cannot do justice to the adore,

 

The Queen that addresses the masses of universe,

So different than the rest, such charm of life,

Either the ocean or the veil, the choice shall rest your day.

Sketch by Nistha Agrawal