A.V

"My mother died a few days ago..." You can cry—no need to hold back. Let those feelings flow. Soon, you too will understand That with time, things do get better. For now, don’t hold back... Let them flow, And soon, you will learn to accept them. The flashbacks will trouble you for life, But after some time, they become manageable. "Why are you smiling such a gental smile?" Cause I know, how the path is like, after losing someone, and I guess, in embrasing the loss I have learnt to see the beauty in it.  A.V

"Vinay, Nana ki report le aana!" Mother shouted from the other room. I got the report, glanced over it, and saw the word malignant. Things were bad, but I didn’t know they were this bad— Not until I read it in detail at home. Malignant lung cancer. Spread to the 4th and 5th ribs, the pulmonary artery. At 70, with a weak body, the doctors would probably recommend a mix of chemotherapy, surgery, and maybe radiation. If he survives— And oh, how I dearly hope he does— His body will endure unimaginable pain. Mother asks, "What did the report say?" "Spreading cancer," is all I say. I hide the details. I am no doctor, to tell and carry the weight of those words. Soon, Mama arrives for the report. My MBBS cousin looks at it and says it’s Stage 4. I know how people become. I know what they feel. I have felt it. I have lived through it. I have seen Death. The disease is not in my immediate family, But those I hold dear will hurt. Why, mind, why? Why do you feel s...

We never really interacted in person. We grew together, but seprated  The friend group split as soon as it was formed— COVID was the reason. Then, in the blink of an eye, 11th came. Classes divided, And our conversations, once alive in chat, Fell silent. Even now, we’re growing, trying to keep this little group alive. And yet, as we grow, so dose my Insecurity. I don’t know how to tell stories, How to put a smile on someone’s face. I’m just Brother Boring— The one who listens, The one who gets awkward, A side character standing in the background. Maybe that’s why it grows, this feeling, Because I’ve seen you with others— Laughing, goofing off, Snapping pictures, And I know how you feel. Yes, we had a strange past. But that doesn’t trouble me. I don’t think I’ll ever send this to you. But if you find it, You don’t have to say or do anything. Just live freely, dear soul. And when your wings feel heavy, I’ll always be here to listen. A.V

Eyes filled with sleep, Mind too dozing down, Cold eating away my feet. The monotonous life of study— Even that has stopped. Finding motivation, Spending days wondering, Wasting life, Wasting youth. These colors of youth have shown me many things. From love drama to fights, From euphoric moments to flooding nostalgia. From self-hate to self-love, Then back to self-hate. From the long days of boredom to the fleeting feeling of time. From relying on others to doing everything alone. A.V

Aap theek ho mosi? Aap theek ho na? Aap ka shareer theek hai na? (A voice overflowing with care) Aap acchi ho na mosi? Aap theek ho na? Paccka? Then why does my mother cry after hearing what you say? Why don't I hear good about you know from people?  Why do I feel like I need to correct you? And that saying all this to you will make you angry and curse my family? Why do I feel angy over you? Why have nana given up over you? Why.....? Why ??? (And tears fall) A.V

Tired, I retreated to the stairs, seeking a moment of solitude. Instead, I found a crowd of strangers. Yet amidst them, one face stood out—inviting and familiar. Socializing has never been my strength, especially when I’m immersed in study. It felt awkward at first, but there was something in the air. Ma’am, too, seemed to have her own thoughts waiting to spill out. She looked into my eyes—eyes of people I usually avoid meeting—she said _"If there’s anything, you can always talk to me."_ It was a simple gesture, yet it reminded me of something: I’m still just a child. I’m 18, but not yet an adult. Somewhere along the way, I’ve forgotten how to smile, truly smile, with a sparkle in my eyes. What I thought would be a casual moment turned out to be unexpectedly serious, peeling back layers of reflection I hadn’t anticipated. The white wings I once wore so freely have turned grey over the months—but perhaps that’s for the better. Growth comes with change, even if it feels heavy s...

 Sometimes I wish that all my thoughts could be logged automatically somehow. It would make a great book and take much less effort. Then I suppose all my secrets and lies would be shown to the world, and how cowardly I am. It's a thought that only comes when I can't write down the poem or thought I am weaving in my mind. I am a hypocrite. Even though I don't like lies, I deceive like a sly fox to avoid situations I despise. I guess I have been quite skilled at avoiding things, like when guests come. I lower my gaze, wear a gentle smile, and speak only select words. Rarely do I see people eye to eye—they live in my periphery. Cowardly enough, I don't even make prolonged eye contact with my parents. I am not the domestic type; I am the type to be left alone on a mountaintop, in a wooden shack I call home, with no one close by. I fear my own future. I wonder if I'll be able to manage family matters. I hate surprises and humans, though for humans, I think the hate comes...

Caught a cold, and even though I have a stuffy nose, mild cough, Strained eyes, and an aching brain, This moment heals me. Have taken the meds, Again I sit at my desk, In a dimly lit room, With Lofi songs filling the air, Hugging my tender shawl, I study in a cosy atmosphere. Away from screens and stimuli, This moment heals me, just like sleep. A.V

 I am eighteen—yet no adult, Aren’t they supposed to be responsible? Kind, composed, steady hands that build? Then what am I doing? Skipping classes, dodging exams, Eleventh-grade syllabus complete. Yet the lectures sit untouched, Questions unanswered. Only four months remain. I feel left behind, Like a small child crying quietly, Choking on his own inabilities— Drenched in envy, craving something more. Lost and blind, hiding from sight, Isolated, a shadow in my own home. Not even family truly knows me, And friends feel like strangers. Only I remain— Alone with dusty books, Whispers of dreams that never speak back. A.V