A token of remembrance
It’s amazing how some incidents are etched in my memory through the simplest objects. Like an old radio, bringing back the memories of a 4 pm music show I’d listen to – out of my wish – after coming back from school. Or a wooden chair, reminding me of dadi while she’d sip tea around 4 pm on the porch. Or the parijaat flowers, that take me to the time dadi would pick and keep them on the shelf of our temple that’s full of grandeur. Or the shelf of the temple that, funnily enough, urges me to think of a birdhouse we used to keep there, back in the childhood.
By Sakshi
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Lifeless through seasons
I look at this window every now and then
As it reflects different stories on this rectangular canvas.
Seasons change, so do the colour of skies
What does not change are the curtains on the two sides
As lifeless as they could be, through days
The only time they’re lively is
when they flutter with a sudden gust of wind
As if dancing out of joy, after ages of waiting.
But the wind doesn’t come often.
And when it does, the windows shut
To avert the mess inside.
And everything is still, again.
It is like,
I’m the curtain and you’re the wind
And the window is my heart, trying to forget you.
By Sakshi
read moreThe leap
What’s the best thing
about waking up in the morning?
Is it the sunlit sky
Dripping of the tangerine hue
The scent of coffee, as it brews
Tangled hair that play with cold breeze
The pillow, that smells of your shampoo,
Or is it a respite from long, gloomy nights
Charred lungs, unsettled soul and sunken eyes
A pause button in your dark episode
Or a harbinger of new hope,
Hope, that today would be better
That today would be new,
As fresh as the morning dew
Indeed, the best thing about mornings
Is that you can wake up sober
And knowing, that you can start over.
By Sakshi
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