When The Heavens Whispered

heaven whispers

Photo Credits – Pinterest

It rained,
The pink of the flowers melted into a mystical mauve of matte,
As the skies spilled their tales into a cascade of condensated love,
The soil gained a unique freshness and sprayed the air with the calmness of a mended soul,
And the edges of the leaves curved concave,
As the nectar of the sapphire sky slept unto the moss green bed,
And they shone emerald green just like your eyes,
Only that I just saw the exquisite beauty of the emerald,
And never saw your true stone-self.

I feel the beguiling beads drop,
From the heavenly realm of jewels on my bruised skin,
It penetrated my heart when those beads quenched my thirst as they fell unto my lips,
The maple syrup of the sky,
Now reminding me of the maple of your mouth on my dry lips,
And the way it tasted,
As it gushed gradually down my throat and my tongue craved more,
Because your caressing hands on my shoulder took the weight of the world off them.
I sighed with satisfaction while this alluring peace my soul absorbed,
Like waffles absorb maple syrup.

But who knew that your nectar would drench me and slowly drip my self-esteem,
But then again, I was blithely unaware,
That your maple was poison in guise of the sweet bliss of your lips,
Breaking the waffle of my heart into shattered crumbles.

I drown myself in the tranquility of this secluded paradise,
I let the skies bleed purple shades of hidden bruises,
They blend into the amber of the threshold of the bijou empire,
It’s not raining anymore.

My lungs came to savour the breath of freedom,
I let the streams of the translucent skies dilute the colors of my tainted galaxy,
I ingested the shattered showers,
Because I was tired of my own tears quenching my thirst.

Maybe the soil will absorb the peace,
And the prying eyes will once again self-hydrate,
But my throat is nauseous of the taste of my lacrimal salts,
I won’t let heartbleed be my life’s sole flavour.

I’ll be a warrior and I’ll embrace my scars,
With heartbreak as my healing balm,
I won’t be a prisoner of your love,
I’ll let the rains take my misery.


Originally posted on Medium via ACorneredGurl, you can check it out here!

‘Ello Guys! Yes, I know, I’ve been posting after a really long time. Like a really, really long time but my final terminal examinations are in progress and have kept me busy. My last paper’s on 27th February and I promise to seriously dedicate myself to this blog since that day, plus my holidays will start from then therefore will have plenty of time to surprise you and keep you tuned! I seriously apologize for the inconsistency.


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The Bloodbath of Our Love

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Photo Credits – Pinterest

Our silence is more of a distraction than our love,
My longing for you drains the pure blood from my veins,
As I stuff my mouth with
The letters you wrote me,
Trying to quench my thirst
With the dried ink,
But choke on the yellow pages instead.
Want to feel your love through these words,
But your passionate words,
Now feel like venom.

Intoxication.
Suffocated air.
Lacrimal streams,
Flowing red in despair.
Blood boiling.
Blur transition,
From lover to bloodsucking beast,
As the poison,
Consumes every corner of the body you deprive.

Stone-hearted love,
Freezing fingers,
Heightened senses,
A deadly desire.
A vicious vampire under a hood,
Looks above the opaque shadows,
Eyes widening,
I’ve slumbered too much.

Nerves embolden emerald green,
Now I see clearly,
I desire the blood of your body,
Intoxicated by our love.

I pounce on you,
A merciless carnivore,
I suck the sweet nectar,
From your bleeding neck.

Lips luminous red,
An ever-growing hunger,
Satisfied for the time being,
My throat is now not parched anymore,
My thirst for you is quenched.
As I slice your throat and make you bleed,
The way you slit my brain,
Into a deluded madness.

I lick my lips,
Only to fulfill my thirst.
Maybe when I’ll wake up tomorrow,
I will wail my pain into demonic lakes,
But if this little adventure frightens you, my holy love,
You will suffer worse,
For these weren’t your last breaths,
As I’ve condemned you,
To a fate worse than death,
For now you are gonna join,
My human hunting,
Embrace your being,
Of a nocturnal beast,
Thriving on mortal blood.
As we dive into utter insanity,
The deadly kiss,
Of immortality.


‘Ello guys! First of all, this is completely my imagination and doesn’t mean to demean any beliefs. So, this poem is about a human who is driven into such insanity by a toxic lover and misses him so much, that she tries to give herself hope by trying to feel the truth in the words of his handwritten letters by stuffing her mouth with them. However, this lover being toxic, had mixed poison into the ink, which makes her choke on the pages. Technically, she should have died, however the goodness in her heart and her innocence prevents her death and gives her a chance to re-start. She is now reborn a vampire and is rid of the delusion that this lover was truly in love with her. However, she is in transition and has a choice. To trigger vampirism, she must feed and if she doesn’t, she would die a human. She decides to accept immortality and kill the toxic lover to trigger this power. However, deep down she is well aware that simply seeking revenge won’t make her any different than the evil lover. She would be as evil as him. Hence, she gives him a second chance by cursing him with vampirism.

What I intend to portray is that while vampirism is seen as a curse, it is a blessing for some. While the toxic lover gets stuck with guilt, as for her, she finally starts to see clearly.  The aftermath of the poem has three different paths. One, that the lover chooses not to trigger the vampirism out of guilt, other, that the lover chooses to take his brutality to another level by replacing his activity of breaking hearts with removing them out of people, and the last one, though a bit hazy, is that he unknowingly triggers it and spends his eternal life seeking redemption. Either way, what I intend to say is that we always have a choice, and happiness is a choice.

You can either be stuck in the past and not find peace, or accept its pain and not let it define you.

Everyone has their own perspective and belief, and you must always remember that they are unique and your own no matter how unpopular or unaccepted. I speak of vampires as if they do exist. And they do, however the way they’re represented in movies and shows are only for entertainment purposes. I wrote this poem having completed The Originals, and I was so deeply immersed in that thrill, that I had to write this one.

To know about how actually vampires live in real life, read here, which is an interview with a real-life vampire, and this, to know about their lifestyle, and a study of the vampires in New Orleans. 

And also, one more thing that I intend to convey through this poem is that as much great it is to give a person a second chance, it is most essential to give yourself a chance, and to believe that no matter how much painful it is now, no matter how tough this situation is, something good always lies ahead, no matter how far away the distance from it. You just need to give yourself a chance and believe.


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Dust on Medium

“Dust” by Niharika Gursahani https://link.medium.com/NQ6RLccuh2

Greetings people! As you all know that I’ve started publishing on Medium as well, I request you all to read this piece, applaud, and simply follow me through your email.

I may be publishing different content here and there so do check it out! I’ve just began, and only published two pieces yet, however it’s just the beginning😀

So I hope you guys, check it out, read it and hopefully leave a comment if you like it.


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The Rhapsody of The Blues


An archaic tune playes over the dusty radio,
Reminds me of a dwindling duet I almost forgot a second back,
Every cosmic binder of the universe,
Wants me to never forget the rhapsody of our love.

Our rhapsody was melodious,
The tune was full of life,
And the lyrics of this rhapsody,
Were the loving letters I wrote you.

This rhapsody hit me hard,
But somewhere in the lyrics we drift apart,
And the bridge we built with committed chords,
Collapsed as you broke the guitar strings.

This rhapsody was our lover’s call,
I sang it and it beckoned you to me when I needed you,
And you followed my voice and sang along and gave me comfort,
But now when my ears sense this tune of the Blues,
They bleed a stream of shattered love.
And I scream louder than breaking glass.

Pillows don’t comfort me the way I was comforted,
When I cried into your arms and soaked your shirt in those tears,
My pillow only absorbs my pain but doesn’t relieve me of it,
The way you did when your chest was my only pillow.

I can hear your voice hiss through the corridors of my brain,
Corridors painted your favorite colour with our pictures hung up on the walls,
With this now irritable rhapsody playing in the ballroom of my mind,
Which is my destination to be in hallucinations,
When drowning in insomnia,
Dreaming of you in my arms,
Dancing an endless dance.

I can’t sing a note no more,
My throat is blunt of unspoken words,
The rhapsody of our love burns me down to a soulless spirit,
And this spirit can’t survive with her soul anymore.
You are my soul.
I can’t sing the Blues anymore,
Because you tore apart my vocal cards.
Pain is the only note I could produce,
But now I have a heart of stone and a spirit devoid of love,
Which has no voice of it’s own.


I can never caese my love for you,
You are my life and you are my death,
And now that the rhapsody has lost its life,
I dream of only death,
As I gulp down a handful of pills,
Drug me of a faraway fantasy,
This fantasy which I can only achieve,
With the sacrifice of my present life.

And the pills start their deadly effects,
As my body slowly turns into stone like my heart,
I am nothing but a mere corpse,
As grim darkness crawls upto the ceiling walls,
And as the noises intensify of the dead spirit’s desperate insanity,
I still hear over the drunken voids,
Rhapsody which still plays over the dusty     radio..

Greetings fellow bloggers! Across this wonderful interactive platform, I came across a publication named ACorneredGurl started by Miss Tremaine Loadholt. Here, I was made aware of Young Minds of Medium, wherein the youth can submit their unique pieces according to certain challenges. This time, the challenge was ‘How Do You Sing The Blues’ and this was the poem I wrote. The minimum required age was 15 and Miss Tre accepted me as a writer in her impeccable magazine despite me being 13. My wholehearted regards to her. She has so kindly blessed me with her generous and beautiful nature.

I hope you all take out the time to read this one😊
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It’s night.

And the cicada bellows a horror tune,
Into the turbidity of thoughts of the chilled night,
That petrifying screech of intense terror.
And its horror,
Provokes the aeons and alerts their nerves,
With an abandoned pain
Of a long-forgotten tale.
And somewhere the oak leaves rustle,
Perhaps to calm the cicada’s call,
Or to soothe an ear bleeding velvet of woes,
Or to ruffle the rough pages inked with distorted handwritings,
Scratch poetry written loosely,
The pages repeatedly falling down,
As if the God’s way of saying “Nah, don’t write any further”.
Somewhere a broken warrior,
Loses a fight,
In the battlefield of life,
And the cicada is now the sound of vanquished hope,
But the wind is the voice of the Almighty,
Encouraging words of hope beckon this warrior,
To make her realise,
Broken she is,
But destroyed she is not.
The pieces though shattered are a part of her,
If binded well,
The battle ends.
And here I stand amidst this thick haze,
This hazy envelope of the mysterious night,
Foamed with the tales of broken souls,
Valiant, yet short of hope.
Eerie for some, comforting to plenty the night does sound,
But to me it’s sound of the ringing death knell,
As I stand up at the window sill,
And gaze up at the distorted moon,
Purposelessness crawling up my torn skin,
Hopeless eyes of archaic stones,
Shot with the hard-hitting lunar light,
The fire of this plight burns more bright,
My vision blurred,
Eyelashes drooping like showered rooftops,
My heart thuds against my chest,
Heavier than the crashed hopes of my past.
And I then see my destination down,
And feel the desire to taste,
The unfathomable joy of death.
Just one step,
And it all ends.
The final destination,
Of my psychotic pain.

I step ahead and fall,
A feeling I’ve never felt before I feel in my final breaths,
Freedom.
I hope you are happy now,
Do thank me for the boon I’ve bestowed upon you.
I thump down on the concrete ground,
My head hitting this pavement,
Has perhaps overpowered the cicada’s call.
My nerves bursting red in wrath,
I have pooled the pavement with demonic tears,
I feel the freedom through my deadened veins,
You.


Hello guys! So I’ve written this one about my perception of the night and what it symbolizes. The poem is grave, I do agree, and I would honestly love to know in the comment section whether my poems are now getting repetitive concerning themes and if yes, do suggest some topics you would like to read. I am planning to make this blog more interactive.😊

Anyway, this poem is about a person who craves her rightful freedom which has been stolen from her and feels the only way to now be free would be death. The ending of the poem, however, can have many views. In fact, this whole poem can have various perceptions of it. What I intend to believe, is that she wishes to be with someone whom she is not free to, and is so driven by that despair and so disturbed with confusion that she believes that it is impossible for her to be free with the one she wants to be, but wants to be free nevertheless. In the end, her despair overpowers the desire for the initially wanted freedom and she only wants to be free of the gloom which has sadly consumed her life, causing her to commit suicide.

Basically, the message I truly intend to convey is sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is let them be free. Give them their time and space. The freedom of choice and belief. Let them be them and love them for it. Of course, misuse of freedom is extremely wrong, but everyone deserves their rightful freedom to not make them feel like a prisoner of birth. Do share your views and perceptions on this one.


Also read: Before You End Your Life – Writing My Heart Out

And, the writing style of writing ‘You’, in the end was learnt by me through Miss Gabriela M.’s works, who is a US university professor and author of three novels and an exceptional poet.

Also, my friend has too started a blog and I was hoping you guys could take out some time to check it out here.

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Waiting for You

I am tired of rhyming words,
Tired of surreal metaphors,
I’m tired of mirrored symbolism,
And tired of reading between the lines,
To find some worth that lies within deep.

For that’s what I do the entire time,
Go through the same day repeatedly as if Groundhog’s Day,
Finding out where I go wrong,
And finding the motives behind my beastly actions,
Due to the madness in my mind that you’ve driven me into,
As I stand here, waiting for you.

The ghosts of our past together haunt the silent chambers of my brain,
Which makes me commit fickle actions unwantedly in your anticipation,
I now tend to hurt everything I surround,
And the list of the people wanting to kill me gets longer by the day.

Perhaps I want them to kill me,
Erase my existence from this mortal world,
And burn me down to ashes,
And be the dirt on the finger tips,
Because I have lost myself,
I don’t know who I am anymore.

I want to write some free verse,
Which does not intend to catch your eye,
But only intends to mark me, my being,
So that you know I am here.
Alive.
Not dead.
Yet.

I had faith,
But now that’s lost.
I had hope,
But I saw no point in keeping that.
I had you,
And you have gone too.

I waited on the sandy sea shore for you,
And kept my eyes wide open and stretched,
Desperate in hope to see your glimpse,
But I’m tired of finding you.

For now I want you to find me,
Because I can’t find myself right now,
As I have frozen.
I’m a bony skeleton,
Covered in skinny sheets of your scarred love.

But my soul is drunk on this addictive love we have,
I am high,
On your tempting touch.

But you’re not here in physical senses,
Even though I feel your presence,
It’s maddening how I want you and I feel you,
Knowing that I’m already dead.

Because I froze dead in your cold wait,
As the sand combed my sole,
and succumbed my soul,
and trapped it within.

But my love for you will never cease,
As when we’re together I feel this eternal bliss,
So let’s let our souls meet again in a cosmic world,
As this love our souls share shall always be immortal.

During my wistful wait for you,
I gained momentary peace from the calm lonely waters,
And it reflected the moonlight above which penetrated my heart,
As it reminded me of the glistening spark mirrored in your eyes.

And I ran my crisp fingers through that translucent swell,
To feel your soul to know that you’re there,
And the aphrodisiac waters of that lake,
Comforted my almost deadened veins with peace from your presence which I felt.

And the waves never stop their surging swell,
Raging a silent conflict of dissolved salts,
From the tears of the aeons of the dynasties above,
Crying out to the universe,
Fighting for their desires.

But now I am aware,
That our souls will unite and bind in cosmic energy,
So I have decided to wait once again,
In hope that the water will meet the sand in solace.


This time, I tried to write on the theme ‘Love’. The speaker is waiting by the shore but eventually freezes, but her soul now residing in the sand has not ceased her wait for his soul, whom she believes will visit through the waves.

This poem lightly sheds light on the intense madness one can feel when in love at times. Even though I feel that love is not something that lies in forever promises, but in the bonds of friendship and trust between the persons, which automatically leads to a forever without having to promise it, this poem tends to highlight the craving of the soul with time turning into madness and eventually destruction, due to the longing of the soul for its lover far away.

However, I mainly intend to hint through this read that if one ever feels lost because of the loss of a loved one or some heartbreak, it doesn’t mean you are incomplete without them. You don’t need someone to find you. You find yourself and you learn to fall in love with yourself. You do not lose hope and never stop having courage. And most importantly, you must never blame yourself for whatever reason. Life always hits you hard. It’s your choice whether to collapse, or take your time to rise up and move on.

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Prey

Ruthless rage taking over my bruised body,
No self-control, as you have driven me into this rapt insanity,
Every wee fraction of a second,
When I’m lost in your tormentous thoughts,
Your vile face appears,
And dims the brightness in my welled up eyes,
Glistening due to the salty streams,
Regularly trickling down my cheeks.

And all I can think is..
How?
How did I deceive me into thinking your soul was pure,
Capable of loving me and to be relied on in need,
How did I fall for you unaware of where would I reach?
And now I’m aware what your love truly meant,
I trusted you and had faith in you,
And you betrayed me and left me to pay the price,
Now that I’ve reached a dead end.

My soul’s drooping due to the pain you imparted,
Every acrimonious word you gracefully curse,
From your torn lips burns my body into deeper wrath,
And I’m hurt ah, so deep!

Like a thousand needles piercing the peace of my pumping heart,
Enforcing me to bleed out the unbearable affliction of your so-said ‘affection’,
And my everlasting agony doesn’t seem to cease,
As I hallucinate into wild visions,
Believing my scarred soul deserves to be wounded.

You said that you would hate yourself if you ever made me feel bad,
But you don’t have to do that if even if you mistakenly meant it,
And now I am feeling hurt and I request you to not impose any hatred over yourself in all seriousness,
As I’m all ready to hate you without hesitation.

I was the innocent sheep in your pack of ‘easy’ prey,
But now the wild beast within me,
Has paused its temporary sleep,
And opened my eyes,
And ignited my true fire.
I’m on my way,
To fulfil my demonic desire,
For that’s exactly what you deserve.

And beware me,
Don’t you dare think I’m a easy, delicate person so I’ll be your delicacy,
Because I’m coming for you.

My ever-increasing vengeful conscience,
Wants to hurt you like you had,
I want to fiercely feast on your fiery flesh,
And quench my thirst with the finger-licking blood from your heart,
Which I’ll pull out from your hollow chest and rip apart,
Making you lifeless and alone,
Which is how exactly I felt when you did that to me.

But I’ll take my time.
With my eyes I’ll ensnare your limbs and hands and ludicrous fingers,
Which threatened me to be strangled to death and to rot within my grave,

My control won’t be deadly at first, but enticing.
For I’ll seduce you,
And tempt and allure you into irresistible ecstacy,
And when the time comes,
I’ll tear your body apart.

The sickness of your devoid soul will reside in the saturated blood of your treachery,
And I’ll drain every ounce of it.
And pleasure me with the skin,
Which used to hold me close and caress my shoulders,
Now left hanging from the brittle bones of your meek limbs.
As I get highly drunk on your ravishing red wine,
And my soul satisfies the gruesome greed of your fulfilling blood.

As now,
I’ll be the predator, and you’ll be the prey,
And my splenetic heart shall have its deadly desire,
And suffice with the lucid feast of your succulent bones,
And wrap myself in the comfort of your cries begging for help from your bleeding throat.

As I’ll have my cold revenge,
And bleed you to death.
And finish the deadly vice of your love.
Which you bestow upon your herd of sheep,
Veiled with false truths to conceal your true intentions of wild lust.

So,

Wanna play this archaic game of preying madness?

Babe🖤?


So, I wrote this poem inspired from one of Ed Sheeran’s songs named Don’t‘.

Basically, the main themes in this poem on which I tried to emphasize are Revenge and Betrayal. The poem tries to convey the dreadful desire of revenge which many people at times feel like seeking, due to heartless betrayal of someone’s love and trust. Even though I feel it’s better to forgive than seek revenge, but everyone at times feels like tormenting the ones who tormented them, trying to make them pay for their deeds, to reap what they sowed.

The main reason behind taking revenge is to gain satisfaction that the person who hurt you is hurt too the same way. However, in my perspective, taking revenge just indirectly conveys that you need someone to relate with you and support you, and give you a shoulder to cry on. Plus, revenge can easily lead to guilt, because when we feel vengeful, we do tend to not have a limit of the revenge sought, leading to hurting the person more than they deserve.

Also,

If you torture just the person just like they did to you, what will be the difference between you and that betrayer?

Only forgiveness will make you the better person. Otherwise, the person you take revenge against and you are just equals. And more than forgiving the ones who break your trust, one first must learn to forgive yourselves. It’ll make you feel less burdened and lighter. It’s the only true and appropriate key to peace.

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An Ode to Examinations

The ink of scratching pens spilling onto the crisp parchment,
A hurried agony of mulled up words,
Embedded in your brain during the cicada’s screech in the previous pitched night,
Showered with caffeine shots to last the term.

Pensiveness penetrating the dead silence,
With you sleepily sunken in thoughts,
Every sentence improvised from your hazy recollections,
Of great importance in this examination paper.

An examination paper,
Is annoyingly questionable,
Stirring your mind with confusion deeper in every word,
Thoroughly analysing your ability to perserve,
Interrogating your every move,
With the shadow of the invigilator diminishing your desire to turn.

The walls of the examination hall,
Reflect the blankness of my mind into the seeped voids,
These voids which reside beside every student,
Absorb their thoughts and create a barrier,
Which restrict you from all kinds of awareness unto your conscience,
Making you unknown of the silent chaos in the examination room.

My mind breeds in these melancholic vibes,
Trying to produce legitimacy in the words I cough out on the dry pages,
Deeply I regret of not having learnt that worksheet,
As I beat around the bush,
Trying to recall what was written in that wee box at the bottom,
As I witness the wordless sheet in front of my sleepy eyes,
And the anguish in my heart intensifies.

I want to escape this gruesome state,
I can’t wait for the clock to strike twelve,
For that’s when I leave this gloomy room,
With the loitering invigilators ceasing their wide gaze,
With every student giving them a vanquished look on their way out.

There’s a rumble of question papers in the noisy corridor as soon as I leave that horrendous hell,
Plenty mistakes realised, some lucky guesses gaining accuracy,
Many beliefs being broken, and many hopes being risen,
After I give that enigmatic parchment to the academic Gods.

Who shall testify my intelligence and punish me using the magical red in their quills,
My fate hangs in their balance,
And all I can do now is wait,
For the verdict to come its way,
Which will decide my life or death,
When I’ll momentarily glance over the alloted marks, hoping for the best.


So providing a brief explanation due to popular demand😂, this poem is written to shed light on the atmosphere of an examination hall, and how a student is so immersed in thoughts, that he’s unaware of everything going on around especially the time. As a student, I tried to portray the aftermath and the preparation done for the examination as from what I’ve observed. Though the poem doesn’t express the mentality of each and every student in the hall, I’ve tried my best to pose a usual perspective on examinations.

The poem also indirectly hints at the unnecessity of taking stress during exams. A little nervousness and tension is perfectly alright, but,

An examination only examines your ability, and doesn’t determine it.

Marks don’t define you. But yes, hardwork is a necessity for success.

[…And cheating in the examination hall.. Usually not preferred😂]

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Dust

Your ample words, and the horrifying motives hidden vaguely behind them,
Act like a sieve for my thoughts and emotions,
My every bit of sanity you’re extracting from my brain,
You are making me lose control as I cry out loud to the forlorn universe in which I’m dying.

My ripped soul’s translucent tears,
Evaporating into the empty voids,
Precipitate the hazy atmospheres of my brains,
And it rains.
It pours heavily.
Their stone-hearted cold criticism floods through my conscience with rage,
With every puddle of anguish within absorbing my mind’s peace.

Yes, I’m different.
My soul’s scarred with a million miserable cuts,
Blood streaming out from these suicidal scars,
Red paintings on my parched skin,
And oh! Such an immense bittersweet relief I perceive,
From these habitual portrayals of huge, red masterpieces,
Painted painfully by my blue-green veins.
The veins which bind me to reality,
But I hate this reality,
because it has you.

Scrutinizing every deed of mine,
So unfairly you treat me and drown me in despair,
Hence today I shall free myself of this reality I’m enforced to believe are of my own choices,

You thrived on the thought that you could control me,
Use me,
Betray me,
Torture me.

But now I will finally be free,
For I shall expose the deadened veins of my neck to fresh open air,
Which I breathed in, and urged me to swallow, and not let out,
The blood I produced in every breath taken in this atrocious atmosphere,
But I shan’t allow myself these bloody lumps of guilt to taste anymore,
I will finally now bleed to my death and your profound joy and rest in your grim grave with pleasure.

My freezing body is collapsed in front of your feet,
I’m making you witness eternal peace,
You walked over my identity, my personality, my feelings and mercilessly hurt me,
You unreasonably desired to gain control over me.

So finally now my mortal body is surrendered to you,
I am dead.
Finally devoid.
It’s so easy

So walk over me,
“Bless me” with your chapped feet,
Stamp on my soulless hollow lungs and shoulders,
And make me bleed my heart out.
Puncture my limbs and eyes out of their places,
Tear my scars and bruises apart,
Wound me deeper,
Snap my neck and torment me further.
Grasp your evil dagger and gleefully into my soul thrust.
Fulfill your lust,
Finish me, demolish me, and crumble me to dust.


This poem is to emphasize on how intense a person’s feelings can get on being criticised on every single thing. The people judging them for everything they lack do not realise that they’re hurting them.

It’s important that people realise that nobody can be perfect or be exactly matching the expectations of perfection, and it is not even required to be perfect. We all are unique and have the right to have our own beliefs and the right to choose for ourselves.

We all have a spark inside us, a reason to stay alive and survive. Embrace yourselves. Nobody can do a better version of you than you yourself. You are perfect in your imperfections. Thrive in your inner beauty.

To all those people battling and struggling in all sorts of wars in their lives, you unknowingly inspire millions of hearts and give them hope and courage. So have courage, have hope, and know you’re the best💞

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The Branched Out Souls – Choked to Death

I request every reader to please take some of their time and fully read and share this article. I’ve written this poem in protest against the proposed cutting of nearly 3,000 full-grown trees in Aarey Forest for the construction of a Metro Car Shed.

I was at the innocent age of five,
Deluded in fairylands with faint knowledge of reality,
When I sowed my first seed,
And hoped for it to branch out and bask under nature’s glory.

I used to hydrate the sapling and took care as if my child,
I conversed with it as I believed it possessed a soul,
That soul which provided me a comfort flawless,
I wish I had known that that too I would have to let go.
How unaware was I of the world’s cruelty!

And decades pass by,
My little sapling has matured and is merry with his fellow mates,
And now that I see, through my home’s gallery,
This impeccable token of natural beauty.

I feel as if this terrain is my paradise, my heaven,
With the tall, girded trees as their ruling Gods,
The most generous, loyal and kindest kings to have been in existence,
As nature is the mortal form of God,
And trees, God’s emblem. We’re dependent on them.

And now I’ve grown up further,
As times summon me to achieve my deep desired goals in life.
I feel the paradise and its peace in my lungs in every breath,
But I now reside from my terrain far away.

And years pass by again,
And inevitable habit of time to pass by,
I have blackheads and I’m not much beautiful,
But I’ve fulfilled my desires,
I expect nothing anymore,
My life is now nothing more than mere sweet memories, pure as honey.

And now my heart is weighed down by a mighty regret,
A paperweight on the beautiful life I’ve lead,
And I desire of this paperweight to be free,
I must be on my way and find solace,
And go back in life’s race,
As I travel down those country lanes,
To see my good old tree.

My heart is racing wild and roaring with ecstacy,
As I dive into my profound memories of the apple tree,
The cool shade during my school days,
The homely and tame wind stirring up the atmosphere,
With its heavenly boon comforting every creature.

I hault my vehicle just before the lane,
I’ve decided to walk for I want to slowly observe to suffice my heart,
But everything has changed, nothing’s like before,
Looks like modernization’s hand has touched my neighborhood as well.

But modernization has an unknown paranoia along with other bright outcomes,
And the paranoia which has flooded my neighborhood,
Is the result of massacred trees.

My body has been electrocuted,
As my veins have gone numb as they refuse to bear this shock,
Not only has my most loved branched out soul died,
But my whole leafy neighborhood has been destroyed.

My eyes are wide open and I see no trace of the heaven I hoped,
But only a gigantic posh mall, a cinema hall, and other guilty facilities,
Guilty of the death of the souls, on whose provisions everyone has thrived,
This civilization created is a violation of nature.
A violation of God.

The source for paper, the source of your life,
Every fruit you’ve bitten, every ingested medicine,
Their source is being cut down.
Their minds crippled with paranoia, driven with utmost craze,
The world will fade into a foggy haze.

The branched out souls are shouting at top of their voice,
But we can’t hear their dying cry,
As in our ears, the call of nature
Is completely void.

But we still have time,
To hope for a better world and save our earth,
Let’s not have innocent blood on our hands,
Let’s save these vital trees,
Rather than just cutting them down with ease.

Let’s not destroy the source of life,
Else later we’ll pay the price,
Let’s not unjust evil towards our creators become our vice,
Let’s not write our own demise.


The merciless killing of innocent trees will only lead to inevitable environmental hazards.

Follow:

Instagram: #saveaarey, #saveaareyforest, #letmumbaibreath, AareyConservationGroup

Facebook: AareyConservationGroup

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