An aspiring 16-year old poet who wants to perform from the little voice of her heart. Literature enthusiast, owner of a terrifyingly small YouTube channel. (

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Hey guys! I first started writing to join the genre of famous fan-fiction of many people, but ended up discovering poetry and spoken word! I really found my niche by just exploring, and so can you! I hope visiting this page and other writers like me and our works will inspire you to be the best writer within yourself!


May 26, 2018

Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board. A wish, washed on dishes, travelling the cities worldwide. Wishes have a certain wanderlust to them, he wonders, as he sits on a chair, hearing the silent chirping of the cicadas. "Wanderlust. You know, Marie? That ship has every man's wish aboard." Marie rolls her eyes and replies in silence, "Talk to me when every woman's wish is on that boat." 

"But if someone out there, wished for you, like me, then you are hypothetically on the boat..."

"Well, Varun, I want to be on that boat, not hypothetically, but feeling the edges of the deck, and planting my wish in the room, with one of those circular windows. And don't bullshit me, you would not ever wish for something remotely related to me."


"No, it's true." She shuffled a chair next to his and pointed to the lowest window. "That's your wish." 

"The lowest one?"

"Yes. You hope to get off this island, but you do that in your imagination, and if not that, you wish to not be the hue of brown you are. The hue of brown that put you here." 
He looked around nervously, running his jarred fingers over his skin. 

"I am p-proud of where I come from. But why is it the lowest?"

"Because you don't realise it's something that cannot be changed. With every can of beer you pretend to open, you don't become more like the man you want to be... You just become a stranger to yourself. Now, look at the window right above that."

The ship sirens wail in the distance, as he finds a man pacing around nervously. A woman steps up to him, holding her belly, a smile on her face. He strikes her down with three thunderous blows, as she stops moving.

"That's your next wish."

"My next... wish?"

"You fear the creation of life. You fear new introductions, and that manifests into your anger. That creation of life, you believe, will be your destruction. You are afraid that-"
"My sickness will pass to my child, yes. You are right. But I would not take two lives in exchange to take the blame off my back. It's just better to... not meet anyone. Be alone."

"And the third and final window in the left, that is your last wish."

He sees an old man, rocking on his chair, and so enters a woman with the shape and hair of Marie, shuffling a chair next to him, looking at a painting of a boat. 

"That... is us."

"Indeed, Varun. That is us, right now. Your last wish, is to be here forever. It is the deepest aching of your heart, to believe that all wishes of every man exist on that boat. And you always want me to remind you of reality."
"And what is the reality?"

"The reality is one of many, Varun. Being sick is not the end of the world. Sitting in front of this chair is not going to change anything. That ship is out there, waiting just for you."
"It would be indeed if I wasn't putting all my money into this place. How is this exactly healing me again?"

"Because I and that boat keep your memories and wishes alive. Tell me, will that boat ever sail away, Varun?"

"It will. It will, one day. I will destroy my fears, and then the boat can smoothly sail."

"But if you destroy your fears, my love, the boat will sink."

"You're saying the fears are part of me?"

"Indeed. Ships are always at a distance just beyond our reach. You have the power to perceive your strengths and weaknesses so perfectly. Every human should envy you."

"I envy myself. Can I take a walk downstairs?"

"Of course. And what would you like to do after that, Varun?"

"Paint the boat."

Marie hesitates, "O-of course."

"It will be white as snow with a purple outline. Purple's my favourite colour, you know?"

"Yes, of course. You have told me before."

"How silly of me. Please promise me, next time, you will tell me when I am saying stuff I've already said before, yes? Although, I suppose it's the only way to keep my brain working."

Marie does not respond, but holds her hand out for him, as they exit the room.
The closet door creaks, as one can see,
A room full of ships at a distance,
containing every man's wish,
On canvases ragged,
Like Varun's old skin.
In India, The God of Water and Wind is Varuna. What better a prompt than to write the wishes that flow and stop at his very will? The wishes on a boat, are jarred, just like his mind, where he was not the man he was once before.


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  • May 26, 2018 - 7:07am (Now Viewing)

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