The Last Bench - Aysha Nizar

The Last Bench

Aysha Nizar

Behind his back, a girl would always watch,

from the last bench where silence kept her company.

Every day she came to that dreaded place,

not for the lessons, but for a glimpse of his face

the only spark that gave her reason to stay.

It wasn’t just his face she admired,

but the sleepy eyes that held hidden worlds,

the careless smile that lit shadows away,

the small, endearing habits

That made him quietly unforgettable.

She saw him more than she saw anyone else,

Yet never once could she speak.

Her voice would vanish,

her mind turning into blank pages

whenever his presence drew near.

Still, she carried him in her secret skies,

painting his laughter like constellations,

holding him close in a place

where courage was never needed.

And then

without a word, without a glance

he left.

The boy she adored slipped away,

leaving her with nothing but silence.

Now, the tiny hope she carried each day

has dissolved into a single tear,

falling quietly,

like the goodbye she never got to say.

Yet in the quiet corners of memory

she still sees him

a fleeting light,

a gentle ache,

a boy who never knew

He was someone’s whole universe.

An Ode to the Victorian women - Sanjana Manoj

An Ode to the Victorian woman

Sanjana Manoj

Oh my lady, your modesty amazes me not as Saint Lucy, 

But as a dove in the golden aviary.

Did you accept your fate to be choked in those corsets? 

Or did their notion of honour blind you? 

Did they only cherish you for your coyness and petite waist? 

Did they ever adore you for who you were, not who they wanted you to be?

Didn't you long for the life beyond virtue and marriage, 

A life beyond the walls of the castles and drawing rooms? 

Would they still love you my lady, 

If you did pen your heart out like a muse?

If you did speak out fiercely like the Great Fire?

If you did desire, not a ring but the pleasure to be in the arms of your choosing? 

If you did rage out like a storm refusing to be caged? 

Oh my lady,

Will you rewrite your story with ink, to tell the truth that guzzled your blood and flesh,

If the pen of a second chance reached your hand?

All the sounds between us - Maria Deepu

All the Sounds between Us 

Maria Deepu 

 Whilst walking to the very embodiment of hell - where I torture my body six days a week (the gym, of course) .

I was livid with myself.

Unlike the other times when the jazz soothed my soul, this time it was just me, my thoughts, and the city’s miserable orchestra.

The vroom-vrooms of impatient cars, the howling wind, the chappals dragging across roads riddled with more holes than a sieve, the honks that came from every direction- each onescraped my nerves raw. 

Yet, beneath the chaos, there were sounds softer, almost secret... themuted bickering of a couple in their car, leaves fighting for dear life in the unpredictable wind,the gentle grrrs of stray dogs keeping me company.

If one blurred their eyes, the streetlights became orbs of vermillion, gamboge, viridian, and white- glittering like restless spirits on the very edge of sight.

The pebbles pecked at my feet, begging to be tossed away. Mid-50s aunties stared ; half inawe, half in horror as I trudged along with my gym bag slung on one side like an unwilling pilgrim.

I judged everything I passed. The pink sofas lounging in the furniture store, glass chandeliers that gleamed like deceit, the clothes draped on deathly still mannequins, the dusty cars, the glowing cigarette tip, the gritty bumps underfoot that turned this walk into a reluctant hike. None escaped my judging eyes.

And through it all, I fumed- combusting quietly over a mortal bond I could not fix. Each notification sent my heart skittering between anticipation and cowardice. How terrifying, how absurd is it that a few pixels of light could make or break me.

The pebbles were screaming by now. The white dust on the stairs lay proudly, refusing to move-daring me to care .Then a soft meow. The cat. That evil little incarnation pulled me in. Icrouched, let her purr in my hands, and felt something soften.

 The mortal who made me love this creature, how do I fix that bond when I myself am broken?

Almost sensing my question, she leapt from my lap. With a tilt of her head and an indifferent glance she moved on to her next target- the tired banker.

I sighed, removed my chappal, freed the grateful pebbles, and put it back on. And at last, I reached hell.

It was not dare I say- bad at all.

With questions unanswered and every life form judged, I laced up my shoes and ran, hoping to fix the bond. And maybe even me.