24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Aishwarya is a budding poet from Bilaspur, Chhattisgarh, India. She is a living paradox with oxymoronic feelings. Most of her days are spent contemplating her thoughts, later drafting it down. She feels alliteration is her better half and you would find her pressed, lost in pages, words of found poetry and novels everyday.
Hope isn’t just 4 lettered word
It is beyond that.
It is uncertainty, affirmation, a mix of everything yet nothing.
I see hope in colours, in speeches, in pauses, in the eyes.
Maybe, 26 alphabets arent enough to describe it.
It opposes perfection yet surpasses ambiguity.
The toppings,
The slices,
The watery dice,
The earth isn’t flat, but pizza it,
Why don’t we end conversations by being weird-doughs?
All I got is room & mushrooms for you.
Come over for a dinner.
Where we argue about the crusts.
Running through the pages of haves and have-nots,
promising in the mother tongue,
escaping the reality,
dreams are filled with the sequences of running.
Coffee is my favourite time of the day.
The froth of 1000 eyes, gives me perspective to deal with beings.
The amalgamation of granules and milk gives out the message,
that we all have the same coloured blood flowing inside us.
Potholes-
a portal for insects to escape the politics
Under construction –
a place I would never call home
Exotic-
the trees that don’t just provide shade
Shakespeare, ace of the appalling art,
With horror’s touch, you played your part.
In Macbeth’s castle, fear dwells,
Where the witches weave their evil spells.
The apparition of Hamlet’s father, hauntingly pale,
Sets the arrange for an awful, wrathful tale.
Othello’s envy, a dangerous flame,
Consuming all within the Moor’s dull name.
In Julius Caesar’s ridiculous fate,
A scheme fixed with tricky hate.
King Lear, in franticness, loses his way,
A kingdom in chaos, a nightmarish display.
Shakespeare, you wove these repulsions deep,
In each word, your insider facts are kept.
Your stories of haziness, still endure,
A confirmation to your ageless allure.
In your plays, we discover the thrill,
Of horror’s control to stun and chill.
For in your words, we’re until the end of time bound,
To the repulsions in which your stories are found.
So, Shakespeare, we raise our voice,
In wonderment of your dim, lovely choice.
For horror’s profundities, you challenged to explore,
And in your works, we until the end of time worship.
rotating my personalities everyday kaleidoscope
Dear Anna Akhmatova,
I sincerely hope that you are doing well. I’m writing to thank you for creating the powerful piece “Requiem.”” Few works of literature have ever affected my spirit the way your words have.
“Requiem” is a monument to the human spirit’s tenacity in the face of unfathomable suffering and loss. Your bravery in documenting the agony that so many people went through during the Stalinist era is both heartbreaking and motivating. Your skill as a poet is demonstrated by your ability to depict the sorrow and agony experienced by a whole generation.
You gave voice to the voiceless in “Requiem,” and your comments served as a potent reminder of the value of bearing witness to history’s most horrifying events.
The suffering people have found comfort in your poetry, and it has shown them the way to restoration and peace.
I want to express my gratitude for your bravery and dedication to justice and truth. Your writing has a lasting impact on readers all across the world and is a potent reminder of how literature has the capacity to illuminate even the most shadowy aspects of human history.
I sincerely respect and thank you.
Ghost of the dead
marching blood amidst screams and orders
the endless fight
