Remembering 

 

R    e    m    e    m    b    e    r    i    n    g 

 

as if breaking yourself into pieces… 

as if 

trying to remember        -             e v e r y                        p r e c i s e                      d e t a i l

 

as if filling the gaps

R -   e  -  m -   e  -   m  -  b  -  e  -  r  -  i  -  n  -  g

as if adding concrete to make those memories linger together

 

so that it remains same… if not forever then for at least - a few days.

 

trying to hold those memories… so that it does not fade away or leave

like they (people) leave - they always leave

 

they say will never leave you, ever.

Ahh!

But they leave, and while leaving, 

they leave back nothing but memories.  

 

and we end up like this

we end up

Remembering. 

.

It takes a while to change

R    e    m    e    m    b    e    r    i    n    g  

              into                

R -   e  -  m -   e  -   m  -  b  -  e  -  r  -  i  -  n  -  g

into

Remembering.

 

Shahana Khatoon

M.A. Batch of 2021

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Remembrance

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Drawing on the third cigarette of the day, your eyes find those slippers at one of the corners

of your balcony. 

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Just the sight of those slippers and you enter into a trance.

​

You step into the vortex of those long lost memories and for what seems like an unending

moment, you forget your present self.

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Those flashbacks pin you down on the large grey table of sadness, of sensuousness.

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You are stretched out, your soul is stretched out.

​

It feels like you are Vinci's Vitruvian Man with the active hands and legs, laid out in a  perfect

symmetry, but your thoughts lack the very same, your actions lack the very same.

There grows a compulsive need to attain that balance but your feelings are caught askew in

the tangled net and all it does is brew an anxiety inside your mind.

 

You try to get out of this wicked labyrinth but it sticks on to you and you are now reminded

of the burdocks that once stuck on to the helm of your skirt while taking a stroll down the

field with that magical presence beside you, on top of you, beneath you;

 

touching, caressing, kissing,

 

down there, all at once.

 

Thrusts, violent and gentle thrusts!

​

It seems so real and you forget that you are not there anymore. 

​

You are so tightly held by this labyrinth that you forget to take the last drag.

​

The cigarette burns,

​

The buds fall,

​

They find their way to your thighs and you are taken aback by their warmth.

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And then you wake up to your present self only to realize that you are cold.

 

Saundarya

M.A. Batch of 2021

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Voices of Past

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Voices of past

Echo in my heart.

Banging at its walls,

Demanding to go outside,

Maliciously waiting to be free,

To take away the leftover hope,

To squeeze the sorrow

In every pore,

To make melancholy

The only tune that

dances around.

Voices of past are cacophony,

Disguised as lullaby,

With a promise of sleep

Filled with night terrors.

 

Rashi Pangasa

M.A. Batch of 2021

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Feathers

​

Holding my red pen, I gave him a strict look.

​

But he still went ahead and handed me

​

the piece of art he had made.

​

For me. So cutely, he said:

​

“Ma’am, you told me you

​

like feathers. I am

​

giving you a

​

long lasting

​

impression.”

 

Kavya Singh

M.A. batch of 2020.

 

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