FOR POETRY

A night out always ended in one of two ways: either i found this week’s love of my life right off the bat and I caught an early cab home for a night of popcorn and reality shows; or I spent the entire evening fending off the smitten males who went on high alert the moment my big toe entered the room. This night was going in the direction of option number two. I didn’t see any hot prospects at first glance. But the bar was the place to be in this city on a saturday night. The place was packed with the crowd spilling onto the back patio to enjoy the warm summer night, and the music was thumping at a higher shout level. All eyes turned to the door when I walked in. A path cleared as my blond hair hanging past my hips wiggled the way onto the dance floor. A man followed, because I couldn’t get my groove on without him. I’m a better dancer than others and they steal all my moves from me. It’s true. I’ve got that going for me, at least not that anyone notices my dark haired friend with the t...

A carpenter went home after shutting down his workshop. When he was gone, a big snake entered his workshop. The snake was hungry and hoped to find its supper lurking somewhere within. It slithered from one corner to another. Finally it bumped into an axe and got very slightly injured. In angry and revenge, the snake bit it with full force. What could a snake’s bite do to the metallic axe? Instead the snake’s mouth started bleeding. Out of fury and arrogance, the snake tried its best to strangle and kill the metallic axe,the object that was causing it the pain by wrapping itself around the axe. The next day the carpenter opened the door of the workshop. He found the dead snake wrapped around the blades of the axe. The snake did not die because of someone’s fault, b ut it faced these consequences merely because of its own anger and wrath. Sometimes when angry, we try to cause harm to others. But as time passes by, we realize that we caused more harm to ourselves. It's not necessary t...

  The village elder, his voice raspy with age, warned the child, “Stay away from the old well". Shadows linger there and whispers slither out under the full moon. But the child, fueled by youthful braveness and an insatiable curiosity, scoffed the well, shrouded in moss and legend, pulsed with an allure he couldn’t resist. He crept towards the well as the moon bled silver onto the cracked earth. The silence was thick, broken only by the rustle of dry leaves under his feet. He peered into the inky depths, a shiver slithering down his spine. A faint glint caught his eye, something submerged far below. He lowered a stone tied to a rope, its descent punctuated by sickening thuds. Suddenly, the rope went taut. Panic surged through the child as he pulled, feeling an unnatural weight resisting. With a final heave, a skeletal hand emerged, the flesh blackened and leathery. Attached to it was a tarnished silver locket, a chilling whisper emanating from within. Driven by morbid fascination,...

 T he monsoon lashed against the windowpanes, drumming a rhythm that mirrored the nervous flutter in her chest. Today was the day she’d confess her feelings to him, her childhood friend and the melody that played in her heart. They’d grown up together, chasing butterflies in the fields, sharing secrets under the starlight sky, and whispering dreams in the monsoon breeze. But lately, the whispers had transformed into unspoken longing, the stolen glances lingered longer and the butterflies in her mind took flight whenever his hand brushed hers. As the rain subsided, painting the world in vibrant green, she found him under their favourite tree, its branches adorned with glistening raindrops. Hesitantly, she confessed, her words tumbling out like the monsoon itself, a torrent of emotions she couldn’t hold back any longer. His eyes mirroring the storm-washed sky, he listened intently, a smile playing on his face. He spoke then, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder, confessing tha...