The storyteller

He travelled to undiscovered lands,
He met people who aren’t born yet.

From the mystical river,
Emerged the storyteller each and every night.
Waking me up from the midnight to the moon,
Weaving yards and yards of stories.

He kept his hands on my eyes,
And whispered in my ears.
Words of dreams, words of fiction.
Words of reality, words of lies.

His imagination goes as far as reality,
His reality is only but his imagination.

His characters die with him in the river,
Only to wake me up in the middle of the night.

Payal

Smiles pushed out of parted lips.
Heavy hearts that never smile and tip.
Hazy dreams, occupied with silent screams.
People so weary, with hearts so empty.

Your search is on. And forever it will be.
Eaten snow for lunch yet, or sipped water from the sea?
Please be on time, to butter your toast.
Or you’ll be late for your steaming latte
and force it while its cold.

The birds are humming
but you don’t have to hear…
the thoughts in your head are louder and clear.


-Arundhati

From slumdog to...

She tapped on the glass.
She gestured for a rupee.
I looked at her. I looked away. I looked at her again.

‘I’m not going to give you any money’. Of course I wasn’t going to.

And then I remembered…

There’s always something sweeter than a rupee. ‘Where did I see it last? Ahh, there it is.’

I pulled out the two candies I had in my bag.
Worth Rs. 2.00
Gave it to her.
Take eat.

She look at me. She looked at the candy.
She threw it back on the glass. It fell to the floor.

‘Tu kha’ is all she said.

That slum-bitch.



-Austin.

An Ode to My Childhood

Today, memories are looking through the glass,
Of the debates where no one would ever lose,
Of the evenings, where we always walked till the no man’s land,
Of the mornings, where the sun would melt in our eyes,
Of the nights, where the moon was right over our head,
Of the real stories about real people,
Narrated with passion,
Always with a glint in the eyes,
Of the white lies,
Of the black truths,
Of the magic webs,
Of the insane imagination,
Of no role models,
Of the stars that we always managed to count,
Of the moon who was at our beck and call,
Of the tears that could move the earth,
Of the laughter that could make the devil jealous.