Month: April 2017

Viswavidyalya 

Woh laal, chamakti building, 

Woh lambi line 

Aur wahi dher sari hassi.

Woh badha sa pankha

Jo bahar ki tezz dhoop

Aur mann ki garmi,

Sab ko thanda kar deta hai.

Viswavidyalya metro station.

Sab dekha hai isne. 

Woh pehle din ka darr,

Woh graduation night ki saari,

Naya, panapta, pehla pyaar

Aur wahi dosto’n k beech ann-mann. 

Viswavidyalya metro station.

Ghanto’n jab tumhara intezaar karti hun

Toh yahi laal chamakti deeware’n 

Woh translucent sheesha, aur ice cream wale Bhaiya,

Mujhe dekh kar muskuraate’n hai.

Saari kahaniya’n suni hain isne

Saare secrets jaanta hai yeh,

Jab exams khatam hone par Rajeev Chowk ki baat karte ho,

Ya fir late ho jane par us hi Rajeev Chowk aur uss Kashmiri Gate ko koste ho,

Sab sunta hai yeh.

Tumhara harr gamm,

Harr khushi aur

Harr kahani ko janta hai yeh. 

Viswavidyalya metro station. 

Yeh bhi unn hi Rikshaw walo’n ki accuracy se hairaan hai

Jinse tum aur mai.

Yeh bhi saja hai unn aunty k earrings se

Aur wahi Darjeeling momos isko bhi pasand hai.

Viswavidyalya metro station,

Roz ana-jana mushkil lagta hai, 

Par shayad, Hindu-Ramjas-KMC-DR-Sriram-MirInda-KamlaNagar k dil mai basta hai yeh.

Viswavidyalya metro station. 

Abandoned.



I remember the sight of happiness

It came with people

It stayed in crowded rooms


That sight is now fading

It came with confidence

It stayed in self-esteem


It seems invisible now

I’m abandoned

Alone

Insignificant


Tied down by my own insecurities

Locked through paranoia

Unable to walk without a stick of anti-anxiety

Surrounded by a pool of my own self-confidence

That has come out in tears.


I have lost my own identity

My will to continue

My incessant desire to break free

Is now, a dead motivation.

Flirting With Death

So happy to be featured here 🙂

bluestockingsmh

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BY SHIREEN MANOCHA (1ST YEAR POLITICAL SCIENCE)

This is a very old poem, but is very close to my heart and is one of my favorites. I wrote this in the backdrop of the painful partition that India and Pakistan underwent.

There lay a million dead,
Thousands of children under-fed.
The fight seemed to be never-ending
Along with people, emotions were parting.

In this fight between races of human,
In the eyes, where the fires would burn,
Who knew what was the incentive,
Where was the lost motive?

Were we to unite or to fall apart?
With a barrier in every heart,
None knew where they belong,
Gunfires replacing the cuckoo’s song.

Tears of blood staining every cheek,
Relations growing small and weak,
Everyone ran and seeked refuge,
The last kiss, the goodbye, the favour huge.

And as We flirted with the grim reaper,
As our scars grew darker and deeper

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