English
“Oye… take this bag.” She blinked. “Umm… me?” He nodded. “Okay, Mr. Handsome,” she teased. He smiled. “You know something?” “What?” she asked as he slowly looked into her eyes. “I’m getting serious girlfriend vibes right now… will you go on a date with me?” He looked away shyly.
English
Your eyes. Your beautiful silver eyes. They remind me of the season winter . The way they glimmer feels like snowflakes under pale moonlight. Calm as silence on a snowy hill, A steady gaze that makes time stand still, A gentle spark that warms through the chill. And every time you
Dialogue Piece
She: I tried my best. Still I was left alone. He: I saw how much you tried. But don’t you think it wasn’t really love? She: I chased him. Gave all my attention. Waited for his messages. I never noticed if he asked about my day or what
English
I didn’t grow up fast because I wanted to. I grew up fast because someone had to stay calm while everything else fell apart. I was called “mature” as a child. That was the warning sign no one questioned. Childhood didn’t leave me. I left it quietly so
English
If I were to disappear, tell me— who would inherit my crown? The crown of disappointment. The crown of blame. The one passed down in family sighs, where every fracture finds its way to my name. I was the sacrifice offered quietly so the house could keep standing. The second
English
In seekers heart a soul lay bare , A shadow within with a secret to share . For it must seek the seekers choice ! The soul must ask but must be poise . Its darkest moments that it must hide . Then why would a soul lay bare ? Hide itself beneath the pale haze
English
I looked at the world through rose coloured glasses, A world so small, Yielding beauty that some have bypassed. We took it for granted, Growing pride in our hearts, Blinded by the greed and hatred we've planted. I am looking at the world through tearstained lenses, A world
Chitra Varnan
In the arena of art, I played a woeful part. Hiding my truth behind this pretence, I prayed the mask might shield me. But when the music faded, and the lights burned out, I saw — it wasn't the mask that hid me; it was me, all along. In
(Sunday morning. Her suitcase is by the door.) Her: (Checking her bag for the third time.) Okay. I think I have everything. Me: (Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.) You sure you need to go? Her: (Smiling sadly.) It's just a week. My mom's been asking
ऊँची इमारतों पर धूल जम रही है शायद सत्ता के भूखे लोगों की अस्थियाँ उड़ रही हैं शहर रो रहा है, शोक मना रहा है किसी कूचे में बैठे एक बच्चे की खाली थाली
She closed the door. The knocking outside didn’t stop. She wanted to open it, but fear held her back. She kept walking towards the door and returning to the bed again and again. Finally, she sat in the corner of the room, switched off the lights, and covered her
The Youngest child is often the strongest in the family People assume they have everything they need, That they're carefree, spoiled or that life has always been easier for them. But they forget, the youngest carries a quiet weight too. They're expected to just "Glow
You'll never die if you fall in love with a poet, They make your life so mesmerizing by their thoughts like a shining star, They will wrap you up by their attractive words, They will show you to the world of love , happiness and euphony printed in line
(The alarm goes off at 6:30. I reach over, silence it, and carefully slide out from under the covers.) (The room is still dark—just the faintest hint of dawn creeping through the curtains.) (I move quietly, trying not to disturb her. One foot on the floor. Then the
Her: Get up. Come with me. Me: Why do I feel like I’m being kidnapped. Her: Because you are. Now shut up and follow me. (She takes my hand and pulls me up the stairs.) Me: Why are we climbing? Her: Because the rooftop isn’t walking to us.
(The restaurant is warm and dimly lit—candles flickering on every table, the smell of garlic and fresh bread filling the air.) (We're tucked into a corner booth, menus open in front of us.) Her: (Eyes scanning the pages, lingering on different dishes.) Everything looks so good. Me:
(We're walking through the mall, her hand in mine, when she stops in front of a clothing store.) Her: (Tugging my hand.) Can we go in? Me: Sure. What caught your eye? Her: (Looking up at me with those eyes—wide, soft, devastating.) I think I need a
I find our memories sometimes, Pressed into the corners of jeans pockets, Buried like dirt and indifference, Old napkins and notes, With promises long forgotten. Fading ink mixing with worn-out moments, Writhing from the neglect, Aching to come back, To make the false true again. It all blends together sometimes,
I stopped writing for years, and when I finally returned, I slipped back into the habit as if no time had passed at all. Filling the page every day feels natural again, almost necessary. Now, skipping even a single day without writing a few lines feels like a small failure,