The Beige Wall

Fissures in the transgressed land Open onto the world beneath the world To the cradle of roots and the burning lava, And that of more, yet to explore... It screams of the pain; of the sinful world on its head But tries to instill calmness with the longing dew,  Changes in its forms; Yet the one staying in it's true. Home to the silhouettes, to grow further darker,  And that of the dead, to rise The place entitled to abandoned souls, the living are terrified of, With possibly no hearts, still free of worldly angst.  No mirrors to disappoint,  And no faces to face That of one's innumerable fronts And speaks of his forgotten deeds, with every step he takes.

The tall tanned boy, Stood by the cornice of the building. Glancing at the road beneath, The path stood staunch as a milestone That labeled yet another customary, novel chapter Of his burdened chronicle.  The tall tanned boy, Fancied if the rumors were true, Of the day he was born; Of the handsome frolics And the parade of folks, Amused at the new arrival. The tall tanned boy, Turned down the truth Of these bewitching stories; As he recalled, The chain of life episodes that pulled him, To the cornice of the building. The tall tanned boy, Continued to walk through the memory tunnel,  Of tender years; That brought appreciation for excellence.  Along with the dreary hope; Fatiguing him of their burden. The tall tanned boy, Ran through the grounds of youth, Of the days that demanded no heed. The hours he spent breathing for 'them', The hours he spent desk-bound, And those he couldn't- being imprudent. The tall tanned boy, Longed for his pulse like...

The lucid lens of the window peers into the city far away A land unknown and unnamed in the years bygone. Wrapped in a warm blanket; eyes reflecting the starry array, Reveling the amity of moon; oblivious of the slithering dawn. Stolid shadows rippling like dwellers of the ocean night, Under the flickering warmth of homely lanterns Folks wishing for the city to pause under a shooting star's sight, Captive of the fading fog; glance refusing to return. Passing through nights a dusky film sits on the lens, The city now swelters, shadowing the silhouettes of them folks, A skeleton of buildings 'adorned' with gaudy lights; dense Incessant blares replacing the euphony, in the land that bleeds and chokes. Blinds of fog, mask the scars, To name it- The city of Fog and Stars.  -Vedanshi Shah 

I hadn't been feeling well for a few days now and was constantly on the road of loosing myself to the feeling of being unwell. It wasn't surprising to me, to let myself go towards something that made me feel less strong. And the idea of not being stunned by feeling powerless, scared me up. Was this a new normal for me? To not feel myself, or to release myself into an emotion that held me back? I didn't know what was it or why... but I surely started to realize how was it by now. My mother suggested me to get dressed up better around the house and to stay regular with my schedule (which I actually didn't have). Listening to those things made me aware of the person that I was not and the person that I never wanted to be. To feel helpless and to not remind myself constantly about my strength wasn't one of my traits. In fact, admitting the fact that I felt weak, horrified me upto the core. Maybe I wasn't feeling weak; I thought, maybe I just didn't make mysel...

Wear words, in this world that lacks; The comprehensiveness of its speech. Run through those sheets, Crumpled and scratched, That hold the forgone. Bleed onto the whites, And speak, more than just with eyes. Bring into the play; the back of your minds. Howl between those; Fallen out of dictions. Run out; on the bare streets Paint 'em with your red blush feet. Print on the walls; beyond what exists- The smoothest of the fables and Roughest of the lives. Wear words, in this world that lacks; The comprehensiveness of it's speech. Feed the empty, brains, with literacy; That the heart seeks. -Vedanshi Shah