Poetry: Faded, by Tanvi Nagar

 

The warm yellow sunshine-

fire from the golden medallion 

its orange-red fiery fangs 

reaching out towards the earth

pouring in through slits of the horizon

where the clouds don’t cover the lands

and the mountain tops don’t reach,

kissed my forehead and tanned my hands

and then bounced off the photograph 

that was held in the clasp of my sweaty palms. 

Its brownish coffee-coloured edges 

tested by the toughest times

and the yellowness set into the frame 

made the faces in the picture seem more alive.

The two girls-hand in hand

their soft faces lit up by stunning smiles

looked directly into the camera

as if staring straight into my eyes. 

Maybe it was a mirror, one its kind-

for I was able to look into my eyes 

from so many years ago

yet, not fully recognise the little girl 

I saw in the faded photo. 

Amid the smudged background 

and the shoreline of the beach 

I could make out my father’s figure-

admiring his two daughters by the beach. 

My mother behind the lens 

captured this moment into a frame

yet was missing from the shot 

like some of the fleeting passerbys’ hands

who were somehow silhouettes in my past 

and yet, nothing more than that. 

Sitting on the same spot at the beach 

looking at the sun fall into the horizon 

as if simply sliding by into another world 

carrying away the day’s secrets,

and the clouds breaking and crumbling-

colouring the sky with varied hues, 

all whilst my hands held the course grains of the sand 

and I paced into the past and ran back as fast 

into the present world of mine.

The gentle wind touched my forehead 

and the water splashed onto my feet 

What if these were the same droplets of water 

that were captured in the photograph?

Maybe, I held the same sand in my hands too.

But the people in the frame-

they couldn’t ever remain preserved in that time.

They were simply remnants of my past and 

just like the photograph in my hands, 

they were blurred, faded and damaged, 

yet alive-

inside the chambers of my mind. 

Poetry: Rainstorm, by Mariam Vaid

You were born to be a rainstorm,

To hide the darkness with your light,

To show your presence with a boom of thunder,

To send your voice throughout the night,

You were born to show beauty that was raw,

To wash the dirt from their eyes,

But the whole world ran for the hills,

When you opened up your skies,

So you forced your thunder to be silent,

And learned to bite your rainy tongue,

They finally got what they thought they wanted,

You gave them life with endless sun,

As they saw their minds growing weak,

And their hearts becoming dry,

They wished they hadn't taken for granted,

Your rainy presence in the sky,

You were born to be a rainstorm,

To be strong and to be bold,

To show the world that even after everything,

Your thunder and rain were still uncontrolled,

So when you think you're unimportant,

Know that life without you wouldn't be the same,

Because nothing in the world would grow,

If it wasn't doused with rain.

Photography: On The Windowsill, by Andrew R

 

Poetry: Serendipity, by Sarah Chaudhry

She knows what I’m thinking about, thinking about 

What do I think about?

I think about the love in my heart that pumps blood faster as my eyes fall on her smile,

the expression that never fails to warm me when the coldest nights grapple for my breath. 

I think about her honey-dewed irises, that spark with such a glimmering life and passion that it’s beyond comprehension. 

I think about her laugh, the best type of plague to fall ill to.

I think about her, for all of her laughter and cries and the touches under countless of midsummer nights that have become the best days of my life.

I think about loving her, and the black box that cost the best fortune resting in my pant pocket, waiting to be opened.  

 

Author's Note: The first line of the poem is a reference to the song "Sweater Weather" by The Neighbourhood.