Posted in POETRY





What lives beyond the screens?

The long-neglected infatuation swallowed by mist.

Fixated on every single creature that exists,

Learn to coexist.


Reminisce in those magical mines,

Getting high on pungent wines,

Blandishing headlines, Annihilated deadlines,

The long-neglected infatuation swallowed by mist,

Fixated on every single creature that exists,

Learn to coexist.


Those screens right in front of you,

Perforate your worldview,

Sabotaging the inner you,



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Posted in POETRY

My Life: A Canvas Painting

I am holding a brush and stumbling,

I don’t know how to paint,

But what else do you expect from an amateur?

A canvas is lying in front of me,

My life is lying in front of me,

But I still don’t know how to paint.

I am stumbling with my brush,

I am fumbling with my words.

Pressure is building inside me,

This atmosphere is suffocating me.

But what should I do?

Should I run away from the responsibility of painting my own life?

Should I?

Should I detest from my own painting, my own life?

Should I?

Time elapses.

And I am bound to act.

So I decide to do something.

I take an imperative, impulsive and imprudent decision,

a decision without any consultation or guidance.

Just a mere decision.

I fling the brush onto the ground.

I shun the antiquated stereotypical belief that you can just paint with a brush.

I choose my hands.

I choose them.

I choose them because that way I’ll disconnect myself from fulfilling the obligations of the world.

And now you look at me.

I feel so free.

I feel so powerful.

I now see my real world.

I kick start my life once again.

So the first and foremost thing I do,

I put my hands into the colors of life.

Yellow, blue, green and white.

See how ecstatic I feel,

And look how I print my hands on the white serene canvas and replenish its thirst for colors.

And also look how I make an impression in my life.

Just look. Don’t stare.

After turning the sand clock upside down multiple times,

I finally reach the finishing lines.

I finally complete the canvas painting of my life.

It seems to me such an aesthetic display of arts,

But that’s only limited to me.

And this is not the end.

A new fear has started breeding and proliferating inside me.

It’s pushing me down and down and down.

It’s making me feel vulnerable, and I’m crying out loud.

Help me! Somebody help me! God help me!

I fear to showcase my painting to the world.

Yes, you read it right.

I fear showcasing my painting to the world.

You see, the world around me is a devious one.

My vicinity is filled with critics and pessimists.

And I know,

That these people are going to look at my finest creation with their glittering gloomy eyes.

They are going to pick out every single flaw they can.

They are going to criticize,

They are going to condemn,

And they are going to obstruct me from doing the best I can.

And the worst thing of all that I predict of future,

would be the consequence of their actions.

The catastrophic destruction of my painting, my life.

I would be forced to smash it into the trash,

And then probably it would stink and smell bad.

What will I do then?

What will I do without my life?

Without my canvas painting, which has burned in front of my eyes?

I think.

I think I’ll be trapped inside the vicious circle of misery and suffering and pain.

And those braggarts will celebrate their victory over mine.

And the time I would realize that I am still alive,

it would be too late.

A complete transition would have taken over me,

and my canvas would be blank again.

So the next time I commence my work from the very inception,

Pessimist specter would surround me instead of my optimistic soul.

And I would start considering my painting as my work and not a passion or a calling.

And the next time I hold bottles in my hand,

I would view them as paint bottles and not the colors of life.

And worst of all,

I would fear to spoil my own hands by applying chemicals to it.

And unfortunately, my trail would engulf the limited light I had,

and I would be compelled to hold the brush again,

which I have shunned long back.

All these are sheer presumptuous thoughts that are strolling in my mind.

One wrong step can make them true anytime.

So I wait.

I wait and I let myself breathe.

And I realize that cocoon is the right personification of me and my painting.

I am growing, but I still need protection,

from wild insects, and their reflections.

I’m slogging for this comfort zone,

And trying to hone every skill I know.

So the next time I make an appearance in front of the world,

I’ll make sure that they see my painting as a beautiful butterfly and not a caterpillar.

And this is how I plan to dictate my life,

From an amateur to a mastermind.

Written by

 Saloni Lodha

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Posted in POETRY




If I could savour every moment right,

If I could justify my doomed plight,

If I could explain my sister,

I feel alright.

It’s just nothingness that went into my mind.

If at all I could.


I hate the word ‘If’ coz people always bluff around it.

Out of nowhere some gaps arise,

take away my morning sunrise.

And now I’m committing the same crime people did,

Using the ‘If’ word, as I like it.


It’s funny how transitions happen,

While domesticating yourself to the new environment.

Heredity doesn’t accept you,

You don’t accept you,

And expect people to accept you.

It’s funny how you make transitions happen.


My plight is as crestfallen as yours is.

If you see me in a smiling photograph,

Don’t be jealous, there’s a whole lot of history behind it.


We’re always taught that time passed will never come back,

Never taught that time wasted, will hit you hard on your back.


Words can be molded, heart can be scolded,

But your brain SADLY can never be blindfolded.


Being in regiment always felt like a crime,

Being a loner, akin to a shrine.

It’s just nothingness that went into my mind.


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