Prettyme

Aaliyah

United States

I am an author and dancer. My first poetry compilation is available on Amazon and Goodreads. I recently shifted to Round Rock, Texas, and I think it's a beautiful place. My blogs-
aliyahwriting.wordpress.com
snowlara.wordpress.com

Message from Writer

Be who you are, not what the world sees you as. Do what your heart wants, not what the world wants you to. Love what you love, and not what the world advises you to love.

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Aaliyah (United States) reviewed:

On the Other Side of the Fence

PROMPT: Flash Fiction Competition

I got the feeling that the writer is talented, and has a lot of experience with the theme, which enables him or her to write with such explicit detail and such a choice selection of adjectives. This story is a...

about 1 month ago

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Aaliyah (United States) started following Puddleduck (New Zealand)

about 1 month ago

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Aaliyah (United States) published:

Iconoclast

PROMPT: Flash Fiction Competition

And I walked, quenched. Mile upon mile.
Home seemed refurbished and versatile.
My heart communicated with expressive lurches. I couldn’t fathom excitement from depression.
To never question a memory?
Was I so perfunctory?
The volatile rapport with my abode kept me awake from dissolving into painful recollections and made me wonder if this was my destruction.
If all you see is unbelievably forlorn?
That’s no reason to be born.
I turned away from the valley of lies that I was...
Seeking Peer Reviews

about 1 month ago

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Aaliyah (United States) published:

Iconoclast

PROMPT: Flash Fiction Competition

And I walked back, exhausted. Mile upon mile.
Home seemed new and versatile.
A person believes all that he hears.
I had come back, after so many years.
Had I run at all in the race?
Was this really my old place?
To never even question a memory?
Had I been so perfunctory?
I didn’t think it was all inside of me.
To touch. To smell. All to see.
If all you see is lost and forlorn?
No more. I...

Seeking Peer Reviews

about 1 month ago

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Aaliyah (United States) published:

Maroon

PROMPT: Writing Small

"Which one?" asked Mary.

"Maroon."

Shawn lit the matchstick. It's flame lit up the table. Mary pulled out a maroon cloh from the pile of fabric and held it to the flame.

"What does maroon stand for?"

Mary looked at the half-burnt words on the cloth.

"Blood."

Shawn stopped a hiccup, every atom in him convulsing in horror.

 

Seeking Peer Reviews

about 2 months ago

Published Work

Flash Fiction Competition

Iconoclast

And I walked, quenched. Mile upon mile.
Home seemed refurbished and versatile.
My heart communicated with expressive lurches. I couldn’t fathom excitement from depression.
To never question a memory?
Was I so perfunctory?
The volatile rapport with my abode kept me awake from dissolving into painful recollections and made me wonder if this was my destruction.
If all you see is unbelievably forlorn?
That’s no reason to be born.
I turned away from the valley of lies that I was now ashamed to call home.
Kept in the dark, believing a lie.
Iconoclast, alien. What was I?

Flash Fiction Competition

Iconoclast

And I walked back, exhausted. Mile upon mile.
Home seemed new and versatile.
A person believes all that he hears.
I had come back, after so many years.
Had I run at all in the race?
Was this really my old place?
To never even question a memory?
Had I been so perfunctory?
I didn’t think it was all inside of me.
To touch. To smell. All to see.
If all you see is lost and forlorn?
No more. I had answers. Why be born?
For a decade I had believed a lie.
Iconoclast, alien. What was I?

Writing Small

Maroon

"Which one?" asked Mary.

"Maroon."

Shawn lit the matchstick. It's flame lit up the table. Mary pulled out a maroon cloh from the pile of fabric and held it to the flame.

"What does maroon stand for?"

Mary looked at the half-burnt words on the cloth.

"Blood."

Shawn stopped a hiccup, every atom in him convulsing in horror.

 

Notre Chanson

Les fleurs en le jardin fleurissent,
Les arbres dansent avec la monde,
Les animaux chantent avec,
Leur chanson petite et grande.

La chanson est très belle,
Et jolie, merveilleuse, et mignon,
Le monde danse joyeusement,
Avec la petite fille et le garçon.

Nous chantons notre chanson,
Nous dansons notre beau bal,
Nous essayons guérir nos coeurs,
Nous essayons guérir notre mal.
 

Truths and Untruths

Ten Wishes

I wish the world could now see,
Women as eternity,
Girls as they are,
The hope for a shining star.

May the ongoing World War three,
Give space for much prosperity,
And not rage an anger so bad,
That it destroyed all we had.

I wish the leaves of the forest would,
Stay forever young, and good,
That only we may let them live,
Give them a beautiful earth to believe.

May the glaciers at the poles retain,
Their white ice, and snow, and hail and rain,
And not melt away by heat and temperature,
Prevent our oceans from flooding the nature.

Let the elephants keep their ivory, their heart,
Let the tortoise be free, and let them start,
A beautiful life; the tigers too should be engraved,
With joy and peace, let the species be saved.

Let children rise, and their dreams come true,
Let the age of the princesses return from the blue,
And be there education for...

Songwriting Competition

From a Mother to a Daughter

(Low voice, in a whisper, says the following words)

“Mothers are such beautiful creations, they think beautifully even of our faults. But we are such ungrateful daughters, that we keep wanting more and more. Once the time comes for us to walk away, we never look back at her, and remember what she did for us. But she keeps looking at us, even after we’re out of sight, and she convinces herself that she couldn’t have lived without us. But actually, we did nothing for her. And we don’t realise that until it is too late.

So, from a mother to a daughter, who regrets letting go of her little baby.”

Verse 1
I can see the flowers in your hair,
Drooping before my eyes,
But they were caught up in such a rare,
Dance; I could fly with them in the skies.
I could look at your pink lips,
And at your abundant brown curls,
They were just smoke...

Songwriting Competition

From a Mother to a Daughter

Mothers are such beautiful creations, they think beautifully even of our faults. But we are such ungrateful daughters, that we keep wanting more and more. Once the time comes for us to walk away, we never look back at her, and remember what she did for us. But she keeps looking at us, even after we’re out of sight, and she convinces herself that she couldn’t have lived without us. But actually, we did nothing for her. And we don’t realise that until it is too late.

So, from a mother to a daughter, who regrets letting go of her little baby.

Verse 1
I can see the flowers in your hair,
Drooping before my eyes,
But they were caught up in such a rare,
Dance; I could fly with them in the skies.

Verse 2
I could look at your pink lips,
And at your abundant brown curls,
They were just smoke and beauty, and little wisps,
Of the...

Songwriting Competition

From a Mother to a Daughter

1. Within My Life

(To the dead, whom we may forget, but their love is strong forever.)

 
I’ll never, forever, ever be,
What you were beloved to me,
I’ll never plead to the heavens to recreate you,
I know you were a beautiful lie,
But you could never bear to be true.
You’ll never be true ever,
But just lie to me forever,
So I just wished one wish,
For you to be gone,
I can’t believe it was granted,
And for once, had I won.
 
But you never loved me,
Whatever the hugs may have meant,
Whatever the kisses may have whispered,
You never came back, once you went.
Away, away, and far beyond,
Behind the secretive mountains, and the silvery pond,
You plunged into the depths, were never heard of again,
Yet I spoke of you with love, while people nurtured disdain.
 
CHORUS
 
You may have been yourself,
But you were never the one...

Zoom Out

Among the Wilderness

Figures are not really what you'd call part of the scenery. So was this figure, standing lonely, but not lost in the thick wilderness around. It was the tall and stately figure of a girl, elegant, but still drooping to its very depths. It was straight and thin, yet seemed to be unsteady both in soul and mind. It seemed as if the only support she had was the dense cluster of trees and forest around her, each individual growth seeming like a lone ranger in that world of nature. 
Around her was the radiating light and warmth, in the bitter frosty winter, icy and glacial. Yet she stood bravely, with not a shawl, except the white billowing dress making her seem like seraphim. Her gaze, I couldn't see it, but I felt it penetrating through what was impermeable, and it showed her strength.

Far above the wilderness,

A bird called, a pigeon cooed,

It was winter. The birds would...

Writing for Children Competition

The Mountains and River

https://www.dropbox.com/s/p512xekpvbbgnbi/Writing%20for%20children%20contest-%20illustration-1.jpg?dl=0

Page 1

Little Alison lived in a very pretty little town.
All around her little house, there were beautiful green trees, with red apples and yellow mangoes growing on them.
From her little garden, she could see the far-off mountains too.
By her little cottage, there was a little blue river running by, and in the autumn, it was all covered by the red and yellow leaves that fell off the trees.
 
Page 2 

Then one fine morning, Alison’s mother came to her and said
 
“Alison, we are moving tomorrow to another little house in another little town.”
 
Alison cried great big tears.
 
“Why, Mummy? Why can’t we stay here? I love the flowers. The little river loves me. The mountains are my friends.”
 
Alison’s mother patted her on the back. She said that the cottage was getting very, very old- about a hundred years. And then she left.

Page 3

Alison cried and...

Writing for Children Competition

The Mountains and River

https://www.dropbox.com/s/p512xekpvbbgnbi/Writing%20for%20children%20contest-%20illustration-1.jpg?dl=0

Little Alison lived in a very pretty little town.
All around her little house, there were beautiful green trees, with red apples and yellow mangoes growing on them.
From her little garden, she could see the far-off mountains too.
By her little cottage, there was a little blue river running by, and in the autumn, it was all covered by the red and yellow leaves that fell off the trees.
 
Then one fine morning, Alison’s mother came to her and said
 
“Alison, we are moving tomorrow to another little house in another little town.”
 
Alison cried great big tears.
 
“Why, Mummy? Why can’t we stay here? I love the flowers. The little river loves me. The mountains are my friends.”
 
Alison’s mother patted her on the back. She said that the cottage was getting very, very old- about a hundred years. And then she left.
Alison cried and cried.
That day, she walked and...

Writing for Children Competition

The Mountains and River

https://photos.google.com/photo/AF1QipM2zdlyRk5ZszSeHLQ_Eek17Io8nexGKkF17Am1

Little Alison lived in a very pretty little town.
All around her little house, there were beautiful green trees, with red apples and yellow mangoes growing on them.
From her little garden, she could see the far-off mountains too.
By her little cottage, there was a little blue river running by, and in the autumn, it was all covered by the red and yellow leaves that fell off the trees.
 
Then one fine morning, Alison’s mother came to her and said
 
“Alison, we are moving tomorrow to another little house in another little town.”
 
Alison cried great big tears.
 
“Why, Mummy? Why can’t we stay here? I love the flowers. The little river loves me. The mountains are my friends.”
 
Alison’s mother patted her on the back. She said that the cottage was getting very, very old- about a hundred years. And then she left.
Alison cried and cried.
That day, she walked and...

Into the Woods

Metaphoric trees

They're green chandeliers on oakwood doors.
They are the musical clocks of the seasons. 
When they are felled, they rise yet again.
So they're an inspiration.
Mellow stars perched on the clouds,
Wagons carrying grass across the fields.

Other Worlds

Books of the Heart

I did not, and would not call myself a 'little girl gone wild.' Even so, I always felt a queer kinship with Heidi, Anne of Green Gables, Rebecca of Sunny brook Farm, and Anne Frank. Maybe it was because I let my imagination run wild too. When Anne of Green Gables suffered a punishment as a result of her unfortunate childish adventures, I used to sympathise heartily with her. When Anne Frank was carried off by the Germans to concentration camps, I cried. She had a whole life ahead of her, with dreams similar to mine, and there she was, dying of labour and torture at the tender age of fifteen. 

When I finished all children's classics, I was eager to read more, and more, and so I started devouring up my school library, having exhausted the one at home. I fished Goosebumps, and Harry Potter in no more than a month, after which I moved on to Jane Eyre....

Maleficent's Trap

    The thorny green brambles grew and grew, till they pricked her fingers and her feet. And among them, the blood-red buds were slowly spiralling open too, into scarlet roses, that brushed her hands with thorns, when she tried to touch them. She felt a sudden pull from behind. When she looked back, her her long golden hair was twisted and braided neatly- not tangled at all- with the thorny green vines. She gasped in surprise as the brambles slid round and looped around her hands and her legs. But they didn’t hurt anymore. She only watched her magical transformation, while the world around her was engulfed in silvery magical sparkles. So she never saw the changing world, spiralling slowly into another realm around her. Slowly, and mysteriously, the world around her vanished. It all merged into a silvery blur, and she gasped when she saw it happening around her. This was such magic as she had never seen before. ...

Our Neglect

Mirrors of water staring at me,
Or is it me staring at them?
Because when the light crosses roads,
The sun sets me aflame. 
Miniatures of centuries' statues,
Sculptures of ancient horses,
dark caves, lit by nothing,
Except the flame of fire-torches.
Hands above, free falling showers,
Of love and hate behold!
The hate is smouldered in ashes,
The love comes out cold. 
The gentle eyes see it all,
the hateful all ignore,
The beauty of the world beyond,
The sunshine and joy galore. 
In the dark, dark night,
Of the hiding stars,
Cries aloud- all to hear,
ladies sing, and gentlemen bear.
Hands clasped in the everlasting,
Forever will it last, or will it start rusting?
My heart flies with the birds in the sky,
Tall trees and houses stand quietly by,
So when I pass by them, they call out,
Is it my imagination, a lingering doubt?
I think not, so whenever be,
The bright little blossoms, the...

Was I Hallucinating?

To myself, I was a very special little girl. But to the others, I was nothing more than a skinny little, black-haired dark-skinned girl wearing round glasses over witchy green eyes. Maurisia called me ‘worm’, and Gertrude called me ‘woodstick’. And the others all had nicknames for me, all of them variations of each other. We had something in common, though. We had all lost our parents, and now we lived in the orphanage- the most dullest and horridest life a child can imagine. But it was more horrid for me than the others. I was not rich like Gertrude, whose parents left her a fortune, and now she had a parlor and a bedroom to herself in the house. I was not beautiful like Kletcher Kingsley, who had lovely fair skin, and golden curls and blue eyes. I hadn’t a grand name like ‘Marianne Hershey Ann-Gwendoline’ (Marianne- Gwendoline for short). I was just poor and plain little Carla, with...

Living Locales

Home Is Home No More

Things were things, and still are.

Memories were experiences, but are the past now.

But home used to be home, but the home that I knew was home no more.

There were left mere vestiges of the plethora of imagination that the familiar haunts used to provide me with.
Where there were the picturesque thatched-roof shacks, looking like fresh-faced maidens in their bright gowns, there were only the modest signs of civilisation, depicted by the sky-high buildings that replaced them.
The hands of the evergreen conifers, tenable by the miniature factories, and the face of the mother, the holy church I'd known, was a grave so silent, that it almost seemed worse to be left as dusty barren land.

I looked up at the sky, where the wings of the aircrafts, and the soft twinkle of the stars had greeted me.
Now there was only a layer of dust, seeming well like the stars and the moon were all taking...

The Liberator of Souls- I

    The huge gathering stood in the large hall, with very expensive decorations. Scarlet and gold draperies adorned the walls, and a heavy glass chandelier hanging above illuminated the hall with a maniacal glow. In the very center, a cradle swung to and fro, surrounded by a crowd of people, all strange creatures, with mingled excitement and curiosity on their faces.
A curly-haired infant smiled in the cradle. She reached out with her chubby fingers, as an intimidating looking woman stepped forward. Her straight black hair shimmered down her back, framing a severe but startlingly beautiful face. She wore the attire of the angels, or seraphim, white satin robes with moonstone jewellery. Her green eyes glared at the infant in distaste, pure hatred shining in her eyes. Her thin bloody lips didn’t smile at all. She was the famed Alexandra, niece of the king of the angels and celestial creatures, and was maternal aunt to this infant.The audience’s discussion faltered,...

The Liberator of Souls- I

    The huge gathering stood in the large hall, with very expensive decorations. Scarlet and gold draperies adorned the walls, and a heavy glass chandelier hanging above illuminated the hall with a maniacal glow. In the very center, a cradle swung to and fro, surrounded by a crowd of people, all strange creatures, with mingled excitement and curiosity on their faces.
A curly-haired infant smiled in the cradle. She reached out with her chubby fingers, as an intimidating looking woman stepped forward. Her straight black hair shimmered down her back, framing a severe but startlingly beautiful face. She wore the attire of the angels, or seraphim, white satin robes with moonstone jewellery. Her green eyes glared at the infant in distaste, pure hatred shining in her eyes. Her thin bloody lips didn’t smile at all. She was the famed Alexandra, niece of the king of the angels and celestial creatures, and was maternal aunt to this infant.The audience’s discussion faltered,...

Lyrics Unsung

Phillip Phillips- Gone, Gone, Gone

In the changing seasons of the sun,
I'll let you be seen by none,
Go where you want,
Do what you want,
between the rare blossoms of the spring,
I'll know you've been suffering,
Just take my hand,
Don't leave my hand.

Baby, that's what you believe,
But I know I'll too relieve,
When I see you then,
For you, For you,
You will never sleep alone,
I'll love you long after you're gone,
For you, For you,
Baby I'm not moving on,
I'll love you till the sun-baked dawn,
And long after you're gone, gone, gone. 

You're my head start, 
you're my rugged heart,
You're the pain, that's when I start,
You're my backbone,
You're my cornerstone,
You're my song, you're my rhythmic tone.

Like a drum baby don't stop beating,
Like an angel I'll never stop treating,
you like a bird, when my heart stops fleeting,
Like a flower, baby, when you start giving,
Me my life. 

Mystery Writing Competition

Tortured

I was staring into the eyes of the girl who sat before me, with swollen red eyes, and a sad expression. In her ocean-blue eyes, I could see her incomplete story.

“See, this is my story. This is what my life has been. And I didn’t enjoy it.” she said, in soft, remorseful tones.
    I couldn’t find a word to comfort her. I could almost feel the pain, the mental and physical torture she had gone through since I left her. Unable to do anything else, I hugged her close. Felt the warmth of a best friend returning from hell. The fabric of her t-shirt clung to me, enveloping me in her loving essence. It had been years since I loved her this much. The love came out in a sudden blast, and I felt as if I could never let go.
“I know, dear, I know.” And I silently confessed that I was sorry. I didn’t care if...

Joanne

La fille est tres belle, elle est sympathique,
Elle s'appelle Joanne, le bel nom,
Mais, elle est triste, oui, mecontent,
La vie de Joanne est mourir. 
Elle etait une contente fille,
Habite a Lyon en France,
Elle crie, mais non, elle,
habite en sa laide vie. 
Sa brune cheveux a vole dans l'air,
Sa rouge chaussures danse un moyen,
sa yeux bleues regarde le monde,
Le monde tour sa un moyen.
Ah, chere Joanne!
Joanne etait une bonne fille,
Mais elle est mort,
Pourquoi? Joanne mort?
Il n'ya pas de reponse.
La petite fille Joanne.


 

Corpses

Splinters of fine wood apart,
Continues from the ancient start,
Havens in the skies of gold,
New corpses with flowers to hold.
Crosses in the graveyard be,
Underneath a single tall palm tree,
Flying in the air-borne noise,
Playing with an angel's toys. 
Stairs to hell, and carpets to heaven,
For all those who were good old men,
And the fine young children, dead galore,
Wait patiently, anticipate much more.
Between mourners in the cemetery,
Names etched in dusty upholstery,
But as they look down from the sky,
They'll be remembered by and by.

The Definition Of Love

Love is what you think of hatred,
Love is what you make it out to be.
Love is what you think of while you waited,
Love is what you think of you and me.
Love is the sky, love is your soul,
Love is the earth, love is your sole,
Comforter, and your heart.
Love is infinity.

Geography of Home

Haven

Golden sunlight filters in through the sun-speckled gaps in the iron grills. In the burning summer, the view of the blue 4 feet deep swimming pool is always refreshing, bordered by green plants and brown stone benches. Within the grey stoned- porch, the blue painted bamboo swing slowly oscillates back and forth, propelled by the fresh breeze of the May morning. At one end, the tall pile of rusty tiles and bags of cement, left over from the construction, gave the porch a slightly disconcerting look. But otherwise, with the tennis court on the left, and a basketball court up ahead, it was perfect.
The surprising thing about an outdoor setting like this is that is is unusually quiet for a society filled with children. This is a perfect place for relaxation, for exercise, and for writing too. 

For me, inspiration never runs short here. An open area is what inspires some of my happiest memories of writing yet. And...

Mystery Writing Competition

Tortured

I was staring into the eyes of the girl who sat before me, with swollen red eyes, and a sad expression. In her ocean-blue eyes, I could see her incomplete story.

“See, this is my story. This is what my life has been. And I didn’t enjoy it.” she said, in soft, remorseful tones.
    I couldn’t find a word to comfort her. I could almost feel the pain, the mental and physical torture she had gone through since I left her. Unable to do anything else, I hugged her close. Felt the warmth of a best friend returning from hell. The fabric of her t-shirt clung to me, enveloping me in her loving essence. It had been years since I loved her this much. The love came out in a sudden blast, and I felt as if I could never let go.
“I know, dear, I know.” And I silently confessed that I was sorry. I didn’t care if...

Mystery Writing Competition

Tortured

I was staring into the eyes of the girl who sat before me, with swollen red eyes, and a sad expression. In her ocean-blue eyes, I could see her incomplete story.

“See, this is my story. This is what my life has been. And I didn’t enjoy it.” she said, in soft, remorseful tones.
    I couldn’t find a word to comfort her. I could almost feel the pain, the mental and physical torture she had gone through since I left her. Unable to do anything else, I hugged her close. Felt the warmth of a best friend returning from hell. The fabric of her t-shirt clung to me, enveloping me in her loving essence. It had been years since I loved her this much. The love came out in a sudden blast, and I felt as if I could never let go.
“I know, dear, I know.” And I silently confessed that I was sorry. I didn’t care if...

Mystery Writing Competition

Tortured

I was staring into the eyes of the girl who sat before me, with swollen red eyes, and a sad expression. In her eyes, I could see her complete story.
“See, this is my story. This is what my life has been. And I didn’t enjoy it.” she said, in soft, remorseful tones.
    I couldn’t answer her. I could almost feel the pain, the mental and physical torture she had gone through since I left her. Unable to do anything else, I hugged her close. Felt the warmth of a best friend returning from hell. The fabric of her t-shirt clung to me, enveloping me in her loving essence. It had been years since I loved her this much. The love came out in a sudden blast, and I felt as if I could never let go.
“I know, dear, I know.” And I silently confessed that I was sorry. I didn’t care if she heard it or not....

Mystery Writing Competition

Tortured

ALIYAH BANERJEE’S JOURNAL

Sunday, January 3, 2010

I was so very flustered. Our suitcases stood packed near the door, and our flight was in another couple of hours. We were leaving our dull home in Delhi for a vacation in Goa. We took a cab to the airport, and after the security-check, we hastily boarded our Indigo flight. Only then could we breathe in peace, and anticipate the procrastination.
After an exhausting two hour flight, we landed at the Vasco Da Gama International Airport in South Goa. From there, we took a taxi to our hotel.
Our hotel was the dream of dreams. It was most exquisitely beautiful. And my room was even more amazing. It had golden wall-hangings, with a red canopy bed, and there were corinthian-style carvings bordering the door and the antique windows. But I could definitely see that the room was arranged in a very antique manner. Something out of the sixteenth century. Ornate, but old-fashioned....

Mystery Writing Competition

Tortured

ALIYAH BANERJEE’S JOURNAL

Sunday, January 3, 2010

I was so very flustered. Our suitcases stood packed near the door, and our flight was in another couple of hours. We were leaving our dull home in Delhi for a vacation in Goa. We took a cab to the airport, and after the security-check, we hastily boarded our Indigo flight. Only then could we breathe in peace, and anticipate the procrastination.
After an exhausting two hour flight, we landed at the Vasco Da Gama International Airport in South Goa. From there, we took a taxi to our hotel.
Our hotel was the dream of dreams. It was most exquisitely beautiful. And my room was even more amazing. It had golden wall-hangings, with a red canopy bed, and there were corinthian-style carvings bordering the door and the antique windows. But I could definitely see that the room was arranged in a very antique manner. Something out of the sixteenth century. Ornate, but old-fashioned....

Matilda

La fille marchent le long de la route ensoleille. Les fleurs fleurirent, et les oiseaux chantent. La fille s'appelle Matilda. Elle a une enfance tres triste. Les parents de Matilda etaient morts. Depuis, elle ne parle pas. 

                                          . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

"Matilda, Matilda! Ou est tu? Viens, viens!" le maman de Matilda crie. "Oui, oui, Maman!" parle Matilda. "Quelle?"
"Matilda, ma chere, nous allons a la magasin. "Tu es une bonne fille, ne casses pas n'importe quoi."
"Oui, Maman. Au revoir!"
"Ciao, ma chere!"


                                          ....

Matilda

La fille marchent le long de la route ensoleille. Les fleurs fleurirent, et les oiseaux chantent. La fille s'appelle Matilda. Elle a une enfance tres triste. Les parents de Matilda etaient morts. Depuis, elle ne parle pas. 

                                          . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

"Matilda, Matilda! Ou est tu? Viens, viens!" le maman de Matilda crie. "Oui, oui, Maman!" parle Matilda. "Quelle?"
"Matilda, ma chere, nous allons a la magasin. "Tu es une bonne fille, ne casses pas n'importe quoi."
"Oui, Maman. Au revoir!"
"Chou, ma chere!"


                                          ....

Free Generation

Between the centuries,
We were lost,
We were surprised,
By the extravagant cost,
Of living life.
Life is simple,
Can't we be,
Why not be the ones,
That God made you and me?
Why not save the girl child,
Save nature,
Save water,
Save the earth,
And happily give birth,
To a free generation?

Kathak- An Art

Kathak can be defined as a beautiful enigma of thoughts, emotions, and beauty, as well as grace and speed. The movements of the dancer are not just movements, they are pure expression and feelings. The music, the instruments aid the feeling.
The word ‘Kathak’ originated from the Hindi words- ‘Katha Sunane Wala’, or ‘the one who tells stories’ (storyteller). This is because Kathak itself is an art of storytelling without words. It is Nritya, or dance, blossoming as one of the renowned classical dances of India.
The history of Kathak dates back to the era of the Mughal Sultanate in India. It was supposed to have taken shape, when the court dancers performed for the emperor. Other myths circling this dance form take quite a few forms, such as how the Goddess Parvati taught dance to Usha, the daughter of an asura (demon), who preached and spread this dance far and wide.
Kathak is art, Kathak is speaking...

The Story Of Classical Dances

The hands of the Goddess Parvati moved gracefully as a young dancer stood before her. It was Usha, her student, daughter of the demon Vanasura. Usha had never seen this kind of dance before. Neither had the Universe. Such graceful composure, yet such speed, and such expression. Goddess Parvati was the first Guru of this dance. She had used this dance to pacify Lord Shiva, when he was wreaking havoc due to his anger, when he killed the demon.
Usha was now a dancer, such as never one before. She spread this dance far and wide, had many disciples, and this dance branched out into different forms such as Bharatnatyam, Kathak, and Manipuri. These dances originated according to district and region, and culture and tradition.
 
In the Mughal Era, the emperors hired court dancers for entertainment. These court dancers were the first Nartaks, or dancers of this dance. They presented a form so unique, and graceful and speedy,...

Open Prompt

Amour

Amour du Fleur,
Amour de la fille,
Amour est la belle vie,
Amour est vous.

Votre famille, Vos amies,
En monde, amour est vie,
En vous, amour est beaute.

Qui est vous? Vous est amour,
La monde est amour.
Votre vie, vraiment amour,
Vous aimez la vie?
 

The Nightingale

Songs of the beautiful,
Laments of the dead,
Fears of the gone,
Love of the hated.

The nightingale sings it all,
But translation is as difficult,
As gold into stone, or stone into gold,
It's all the same, your heart's song.

Hymns of the church,
Prayers of the temples,
Melodies of the mosques,
All is one, One is all.

Hatred

Freedom will fall, whispers within,

Family gone, hate for kin,

Hideouts will surface from atop,

No prosperity, no golden crop.

Kings will rear, farms tomorrow,

Grieving through a sea of sorrow,

Palms of hands filled with grain,

To grow in the everlasting rain.

The sun will hide, too ashamed,

For birds to see it's figure- maimed,

Heartily dead, wishing all dead,

All love transformed into bloody hatred.
 

Turned to Stone

Stranger!

The train lurched forward, mile upon mile. In the darkness. All at once, it stopped. The windows were blurred with rain and fog. The night was dreary, and yet an eerie but refreshing breeze blew through the windows, making one shiver. Susan, sitting on the window seat, let out a low shriek. She glanced at the man sitting next to her. He wore a black trench coat with heavy Wellington boots. He wore a big black felt hat drawn over his face. His only visible facial feature was his black bushy moustache.
Susan watched him in fearful silence as he rose out of his seat, walked out of the train door, and merged with the black darkness of the night. It seemed as if he had been waiting for the train to halt. As soon as the mysterious man got out, the train began rumbling on its way again. Susan heaved a sigh of relief.

“Hi sis!” smiled Susan’s sister,...

Alliteration and Life

Life is long,
Alive is aggression,
Love is life,
Vanity is variety.
Wealth is wastage.
Health is heaven,
Happiness is heaven,
You are your yacht,
It feels to float,
It dies to drown,
but it keeps you above.

life

Y- you
O- Ordinary
U- unimaginable
R- Risks

L- Love
I- Is
F- fiendish
E- evil

I- Instead
S- shadows

W- waver 
H- hover
A- Alive
T- Tireless

Y- Yes (say it!)
O- otherwise
U- unless

M- Meet
A- aggression
K- Killing
E- Ever after

I- Interconnected
T- trust
 

Neglect

Didn't I call you through my eyes?
Didn't I see you through my eyes?
Did you not see me?
Did you not hear me?
Or did you not heed my plea?
Maybe it was all,
Because you nurtured nothing but hate.
I know that now,
But I was oblivious before,
You pulled a shade over my eyes.

Death in a few words

Headlights flash. A face appears. The face is red. With blood. Innocent blood. A life is taken.

A Tribute to our Earth

Green leaves pour their message out,
They tell you what our Earth is about,
So listen, and don't turn away,
Might change the world through what you say.

Trees all waving round and round,
Lakes and rivers flow along the ground,
Whispering their watery secrets to you,
Listen, they love nature too.

Polar bears and the poles crying,
They already know they are dying,
For once the ice caps melt all through,
The thought is new, but the love is true.

There's one we have, just one home,
It's just the Mother Earth's womb,
If she is destroyed, where will we go?
We'll have no place to live, it's something we know.

So why not cherish, preserve, and recycle,
Love with all our hearts, and work a miracle,
When we all preserve, and together try,
There's nothing to stop us from reaching the sky.

"So all my dear fellow human beings, I request you to take a pledge with me,...

Timeless Counsel

​The Miracle Morning

You'll probably find a book about this very topic. But as per the prompt, I convey the benefits of a strategic morning according to me.
Well, you may be thinking, that why would someone prefer a miraculous morning, when even a late start to your day can sometimes bring wonders? The answer- it’s your state of mind.

The Miracle Morning
Being twelve, I used to be a tremendous lie-abed. But then, after my father uttered this advice, I never was one again. “Follow a ‘Miracle Morning’.” According to me, it’s “Follow a miracle morning to follow your dreams.”
In his book, “The Miracle Morning”, Hal Elrod discusses the benefits of waking up early. My father read this book and followed the advice. I didn’t read the whole book, but I’ve started following this advice.
A writer, as I aspire to be, has innumerable improvements to realise and make if he or she rises early and works with a fresh...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

Racism Blood

Hearts all thump to the same rhythm,
Unrequited love binds the difference,
Then what veneration remains?
For you to call your own?
It is your people who suffer,
The face of the gentle grave-bearer,
Lightning of the grey skies
Look up to you as their saviour.
But you become their torturer.

Knives do your work skilfully,
Guns are loyal too, but even then,
The stab of pain that pierces your heart,
Yet your feelings are dimmed.
Which hand remains to call your own,
The killer or the evil planner?
You can't turn away to good now,
When you've come so far, 
And destroyed your family too.

White or black, the flesh is the same,
So is the courageous blood,
The ancestors are the same too,
You descend just as they do.
They are your family.
They are your love.
They are your love.
You are destroying it all.

Collective Voice

Waiting For Summer

We looked on as the monsoon froze into the winter. The landscape changed from the wet and gloomy scene to a white and motionless picture. The bright green leaves of the tree turned from green to red to yellow, and then finally fell off, rendering the trees covered with silvery frost. The long, lifeless days moved in and out of frame, while we waited, hanging on our verandahs for the summer. But it went on and on, the snow showing no signs of melting or disappearing. 

But then, one pleasantly warm morning brought delight for us, in the form of the winter mellowing into spring. We had not long to wait. The trees put out new lime-coloured leaves and it was green and sunny all around. It was hard not to be elated after such a pleasant change.

And then at last, the sun became unbearably hot. The grass was dried up, and our throats became dry every other minute....

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

Racism Blood

I met her in a niche of the ancient bough, 
Her name was Carla; I think of her now, 
        She was heaven's gift, ear's music, 
        Still shining, but a worn old relic. 
            But oh! was she beautiful.

Clinging to a hopeless faith, 
A long and silent fruitless wait, 
        Tall trees above, sheltered her, 
        She was a fly trapped in golden amber. 
            She lay like a little hummingbird.

Wonder cairns form tall arches, 
Hanging from the listless branches, 
        Falls to the ground around, 
        Loving Carla, with her rhythmic sound. 
            But none to hear her awhile.

Sixty songs all burn out too, 
There’s nothing for her to sing anew, 
        So she lies in the shade of the blistering birch, 
        While hymns for her echo from the church. 
            But she has no hope left.

Safety forsakes her for better times, 
The world gets away with their bitter crimes, 
        High thoughts yet permeate her heart, 
        The end...

Showers On the Canopy

Kings of spring in blissful dreams,
Laying the feet in the gold that gleams,
Like butterflies of diamond stone bright,
Will shine with the darkness of ever light.

Ploughing fields of hard-earned crop,
Perched with sparrows and moths atop,
Childly faces play hide-and-seek,
Birds hunt together with the tender beak.

Golden glades wave back and forth,
Hiding gems priceless worth,
Heal together the realm of the bay,
Need a worthy place to stay.

Sheltered beneath the jingling roof,
Expressionless maidens walk aloof,
Hands are tiring to obtain,
Agriculture and the needful rain.

Minds full of ideas for the winter,
Stubbing toes on rubble and splinter,
Chipped wood lies and calls 'red light'!
Animals and owls get into a fight.

Forest showers fall upon the canopy,
Don't realise how sheltered are we,
So being the great god above the sky,
It's not that tough to say goodbye. 
 

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

Racism Blood



I met her in a niche of the ancient bough, 
Her name was Carla; she told me so, 
        She was heaven's gift, ear's music, 
        Still shining, but a worn old relic. 
            But oh! was she beautiful.

Clinging to a hopeless faith, 
A long and silent fruitless wait, 
        Tall trees above sheltered her, 
        She was a fly trapped in golden amber. 
            She lay like a little hummingbird.

Wonder cairns form tall arches, 
Hanging from the listless branches, 
        Falls to the ground around, 
        Loving Carla, with her rhythmic sound. 
            But none to hear her awhile.

Sixty songs all burn out too, 
There’s nothing for her to sing anew, 
        So she lies in the shade of the blistering birch, 
        While hymns for her echo from the church. 
            But she has no hope left.

Safety forsakes her for better times, 
The world gets away with their bitter crimes, 
        High thoughts yet permeate her heart, 
        The end is...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

Racism Blood



I met her in a niche of the ancient bough, 
Her name was Carla; she told me so, 
She was heaven's gift, ear's music, 
Still shining, but a worn old relic. 

Clinging to a hopeless faith, 
A long and silent fruitless wait, 
Tall trees above sheltered her, 
She was a fly trapped in golden amber. 

Wonder cairns form tall arches, 
Hanging from the listless branches, 
Falls to the ground around, 
Loving Carla, with her rhythmic sound. 

Sixty songs all burn out too, 
There’s nothing for her to sing anew, 
So she lies in the shade of the blistering birch, 
While hymns for her echo from the church. 

Safety forsakes her for better times, 
The world gets away with their bitter crimes, 
High thoughts yet permeate her heart, 
The end is harder than the start. 

But can she escape, beauty-bound, 
Because of the evil that she found? 
Because Carla, with her silent language, 
Grows sad, and gives way to rage. 

Comfort works...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

Racism Blood

Sometimes maybe she will hide, 
But what about the rest of the time? 
Will she be hit, or perhaps killed- 
To bide her time in this unworthy world? 
She's immature, doesn't know any better, 
What if it's family? Will she know? 
If she's to be abused, made to labor, 
How will she get word across to you? 

She'll just accept the hand,  
Held out to her by family, well-wishers, 
She won't realise until it's too late, 
Guide her while the time's right. 
Save her- raise your voice and hers. 

Put clearly and simply, 
She's yet only a child, 
She has lots to experience, 
But there are ones who will, 
Take advantage of her childishness. 
She's innocent, let her go! 
Maybe you'll cry out, 
But what good will it do- when, 
She's already hit about? 

She'll not know, it's not too late, 
Hold him by his hair, 
And drag him to apologise, 
Will the condition improve? 
It will not, until the...

Only a Child

Sometimes maybe she will hide,
But what about the rest of the time?
Will she be hit, or perhaps killed-
To bide her time in this unworthy world?
She's immature, doesn't know any better,
What if it's family? Will she know?
If she's to be abused, made to labor,
How will she get word across to you?

She'll just accept the hand, 
Held out to her by family, well-wishers,
She won't realise until it's too late,
Guide her while the time's right.
Save her- raise your voice and hers.

Put clearly and simply,
She's yet only a child,
She has lots to experience,
But there are ones who will,
Take advantage of her childishness.
She's innocent, let her go!
Maybe you'll cry out,
But what good will it do- when,
She's already hit about?

She'll not know, it's not too late,
Hold him by his hair,
And drag him to apologise,
Will the condition improve?
It will not, until the...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

Racism Blood

I met her in a niche of the ancient bough,
Her name was Carla; she told me so,
She was heaven's gift, ear's music,
Still shining, but a worn old relic.

Clinging to a hopeless faith,
A long and silent fruitless wait,
Tall trees above sheltered her,
She was a fly trapped in golden amber.

Wonder cairns form tall arches,
Hanging from the listless branches,
Falls to the ground around,
Loving Carla, with her rhythmic sound.

Sixty songs all burn out too,
There’s nothing for her to sing anew,
So she lies in the shade of the blistering birch,
While hymns for her echo from the church.

Safety forsakes her for better times,
The world gets away with their bitter crimes,
High thoughts yet permeate her heart,
The end is harder than the start.

But can she escape, beauty-bound,
Because of the evil that she found?
Because Carla, with her silent language,
Grows sad, and gives way to rage.

Comfort...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

Racism Blood

I met her in a niche of the ancient bough,
Her name was Carla; she told me so,
That was Carla- rosy red,
Beneath the silent, brown bowed head.

Clinging to a hopeless faith,
A long and silent fruitless wait,
Tall trees above sheltered her,
She was a fly trapped in golden amber.

Wonder cairns form tall arches,
Hanging from the listless branches,
Falls to the ground around,
Loving Carla, with her rhythmic sound.

Sixty songs all burn out too,
There’s nothing for her to sing anew,
So she lies in the shade of the blistering birch,
While hymns for her echo from the church.

Safety forsakes her for better times,
The world gets away with their bitter crimes,
But she waits; grows much more,
Grows her wings and tries to soar.

But can she escape, beauty-bound,
Because of the evil that she found?
Because Carla, with her silent language,
Grows sad, and gives way to rage.

Comfort works nothing...

Stepping Stones

The stepping stones,
Get you to the other side,
All for what?
To realize no gain.
Upon the lanes of greed,
Kill you will,
There is no escape,
No way out.

Minds will curse you,
So avoid it always,
Prick your hand 
With the sharper thorn,
Don't stub it with,
The blunt one.
The blunt one leaves a mark.

The fast horse runs away,
Does not see the diamond glittering
In it's path,
The careful one may not win,
But sees the treasure.

Writing-Part V

Even though I agree that writing is something infinite, something which is not to be done by adhering to certain rules, but still, I have precisely one rule. But it is not to be followed only when writing. It is to be followed always, if you not just want to write, but want to live the life of a writer, and achieve success and fame. There are three powers of the mind which you need to exercise while writing according to me.

  1. Creativity- Every writer’s mind is something unique, something different, which neither another writer possesses, nor does the world. Creativity is something like science. It helps you discover. Creativity is a skill, which probably only you  possess. Maybe you have a lot in you, but just don’t know it. From creativity, the motto of a writer is- “Live, write, create.”
  2. Hope- Whenever we take a decision to complete a specific task, even we know that we cannot stick at...

Writing-Part IV


I wonder if you have ever noticed how adults fail to deeply understand children nowadays. Their most common words are- “Oh, I know your excuses, I went through your age too!” And it’s partly true. Grown-ups did go through childhood too. But the worrying fact is, they don’t  remember their childhood. They never remember how they felt, or the mistakes that they made as a child.
To write good content (especially for young readers), you need to have vivid memories of your own childhood. Otherwise, how will children associate your childly content with their own immature lives?
“Childhood lies in it’s own sweet haven, where children speak a language of their own, have their own friends, and have a very unique mind. Childhood is like a strong stick, around which the delicate children grow like creepers. But once you grow up, you have to leave that sweet haven, and protect yourself.”
Writing for children is all about fun and exciting...

Writing-Part IV

I used to be- no, still am a very shy and shaky child. I’m always afraid to go and actually speak out. It’s extremely annoying. Sometimes I simply know that something is wrong, and I see that everyone’s accepting it. But somehow, I can’t bring myself to raise my voice and argue. I keep thinking that “What if I’m wrong, and she’s right?”, and “I know that everyone’s looking at me. I know I’m being boring and uninteresting,” or even “I know they’re all staring at my untidy hair.” This is called being conscious. Always thinking that people are noticing your negative points more. Being unsure and continuously anxious over petty things. Writing helped me realise that those small things weren’t worth fretting about. Not only that, writing actually helped me discover my inner voice.
I am not afraid of speaking out. I’m afraid of open criticism. But if I write, then I don’t have to literally speak. My reader...

Writing-Part IV

The first question that most young writers are asked is that “Why do you want to write, when there are so many other exciting things such as movies, and parties, and painting, and sports, and shopping too?”  If I was ever asked a similar question by numerous people, my simple answer would be, “Just because I like to.”  Ask this question to great writers nowadays, and just keep a note of the number of writers who answered this question roughly like I mentioned above.  Even, I may not answer the question the same way. Maybe I’m giving such an example of an answer, just because I want people to actually learn from reading this. The reason I like writing is that I look at writing as if it was a friend, or one of my family, in whom I could really confide. I tell you, you’ll never, ever, feel lonely while writing. The simple reason is- you’re basically writing down...

Writing-Part II


Writing is nothing without good narration. It is all about engaging your reader. You need to have something good to tell, which needs to make the reader cry, or roar with laughter, or even just smile. But you need to awaken emotion within your reader. Even the most simple incidents and moments in your story or article or essay or poem should thrill whoever’s reading it. When I read my favorite book, I :-
  • Hurry to the part which I like the most.
  • Never find it boring or repetitive.
  • Get excited.
  • Laugh or cry, or jump back.

And I’m sure you do the same. Ask yourself- “What is so special about this book that I like it so much?” And once you think you got the answer, try to integrate the same thing into your own writing. But I’m not asking you to copy ideas. No, if you love the storyline in your favorite book, I am not telling you...

Writing-Part IV

When we walk along the road, we see many beggars sitting and begging to earn their daily bread and we feel pity for them. But do we try to do something about it? Do we try to bring about  a change? Actually...we don’t. That’s the difference between- people who see the deficiency in our society and do something about it, and people who see it and  give lectures, blame other people. These people, who try to make a change, are the leaders of tomorrow.
A man called Louis walks along the road, after refusing to help an old man cross the street. As he walks, he hums to himself, and sees a poor mother with her small child sitting on the roadside in a pitiful condition, begging. He does not pay any attention to the heart-rending prayers and wails of the mother, but just walks past. The next man named David, who sees this sight is filled with pity and...

Door of Death

“Either do it, or don’t!” screamed nineteen-year old Amy. “You’re old enough to know that it’s better to obey me!” Still, Eliza stood there, with that same unblinking stare of hers, that Amy found so irritating. “I’m not going to do what you say, this time. You’re always ordering me around.” And then, the competent thirteen-year old stomped out of the house. Yes, you heard it right- a thirteen- year old left her home.
The night was like a cloud of gloom and dark misery that shrouded the world. Eliza didn’t feel anything strongly. She felt happy to be away from that domineering and spiteful Amy, but yet her loneliness caused her sorrow. The memories were too vivid to forget. The mountain-climbing excursion, her mother’s shriek, as her parents went hurtling down the steep cliff, and Amy, who had been so cajoling and kind, when Jack had been there. Amy and Jack had been friends of her mother. Not too...

The Subject that Matters

Languages

In the olden days, the only means of communication was pure and beautiful language. In schools and learning institutes everywhere, the first thing taught to the younger generation was the proper use of language. Whether it was Latin, or French, or even local dialects, they made sure that the children were able to write, speak, and read fluent language.

But today, we can barely remember where the Old English, and the fluent Latin all went off to. Languages are supposed to be part of primary education, and end there itself. In secondary education, all the way to high school, language is not given as much importance as it should. Instead, the focus is on mathematics, and physics, chemistry, biology, and computers. but even these subjects require the means of language.
The first requirement of all is the promotion of native speakers. Just like an archaeologist can't teach homeopathy, similarly, a Spanish teacher cannot teach or speak fluent French. I firmly...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

Racism Blood

I met her in a niche of the ancient bough,
Her name was Carla; she told me so,
That was Carla- rosy red,
Beneath the silent, brown bowed head.

Clinging to a hopeless faith,
A long and silent fruitless wait,
But heaven sees what goes on,
Golden thunder, blue sky- born.

Wonder cairns form tall arches,
Hanging from the listless branches,
Falls to the ground around,
Loving Carla, with her rhythmic sound.

Sixty songs all burn out too,
There’s nothing for her to sing anew,
So she lies in the shade of the blistering birch,
While hymns for her echo from the church.

Safety forsakes her for better times,
The world gets away with their bitter crimes,
But she waits; grows much more,
Grows her wings and tries to soar.

But can she escape, beauty-bound,
Because of the evil that she found?
Because Carla, with her silent language,
Grows sad, and gives way to rage.

Comfort works nothing for her, ...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

Racism Blood

I met her in a niche of the ancient bough,
Her name was Carla; she told me so,
That was Carla- rosy red,
Beneath the silent, brown bowed head.

Clinging to a hopeless faith,
A long and silent fruitless wait,
But heaven sees what goes on,
Golden thunder, blue sky- born.

Wonder cairns form tall arches,
Hanging from the listless branches,
Falls to the ground around,
Loving Carla, with her rhythmic sound.

Sixty songs all burn out too,
There’s nothing for her to sing anew,
So she lies in the shade of the blistering birch,
While hymns for her echo from the church.

Safety forsakes her for better times,
The world gets away with their bitter crimes,
But she waits; grows much more,
Grows her wings and tries to soar.

But can she escape, beauty-bound,
Because of the evil that she found?
Because Carla, with her silent language ,
Grows sad, and gives way to rage.

Comfort works nothing for...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

Racism Blood

I met her in a niche of the ancient bough,
Her name was Carla; she told me so,
That was Carla- rosy red,
Beneath the silent, brown bowed head.

Clinging to a hopeless faith,
A long and silent fruitless wait,
But heaven sees what goes on,
Golden thunder, blue sky- born.

Wonder cairns form tall arches,
Hanging from the listless branches,
Falls to the ground around,
Loving Carla, with her rhythmic sound.

Sixty songs all burn out too,
There’s nothing for her to sing anew,
So she lies in the shade of the blistering birch,
While hymns for her echo from the church.

Safety forsakes her for better times,
The world gets away with their bitter crimes,
But she waits; grows much more,
Grows her wings and tries to soar.

But can she escape, beauty-bound,
Because of the treasure that she found?
Because Carla, with her mute language,
Grows sad, and gives way to rage.

Comfort works nothing for her, ...

Spanish Horseman

Kindling the fire by the sea,
Came the horseman riding up!
Weary, hungry- thirsty too-
Had no bowl, had no cup.

Hindering glittering stars above,
Nights of laughter and love,
But Spanish blood ran in his veins,
From hot summers to monsoon rains.

Cries of children, gossip of the men,
Villages upon the mountain lane,
The horseman rode up the path,
His rage growing, burning wrath.

Fiery sun in the summer sky,
None to help- oh! a pretty lie,
As he went along the houses too,
An innkeeper stole his horse,
And a tramp his shoe.

The poor man now on his feet,
Echoing a sickening beat,
Thump, thump! weary he went,
None knew where, or what he meant.

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

Racism Blood

I met her in a niche of the ancient bough,
Her name was Carla; she told me so,
That was Carla- rosy red,
Beneath the silent, brown bowed head.

Clinging to a hopeless faith,
A long and silent fruitless wait,
But heaven sees what goes on,
Golden thunder, blue sky- born.

Wonder cairns form tall arches,
Hanging from the listless branches,
Falls to the ground around,
Loving Carla, with her rhythmic sound.

Sixty songs all burn out too,
There’s nothing for her to sing anew,
So she lies in the shade of the blistering birch,
While hymns for her echo from the church.

Safety forsakes her for better times,
The world gets away with their bitter crimes,
But she waits; grows much more,
Grows her wings and tries to soar.

But can she escape, beauty-bound,
Because of the treasure that she found?
Because Carla, with her mute language,
Grows sad, and gives way to rage.

Comfort works nothing for her, ...

Devastated


Novice lovers, kill the great,
As the laughter and love abate,
The hungry wind laps at the sea,
Shade leaves beneath the tree.

Winding ways tonight will fall,
While the whispering night stands tall,
Poles and ships injure you,
Swift trees fell upon your route.

Stirring in that midsummer sleep,
Widows and and nature, tend to weep,
Behind the wall, above the skies,
Courage fails, and kindness dies.

Pillars hold up the wire roof,
Sadness prevails, the grave aloof,
New songs echo round the ear,
Pleading for you to sing and hear.

Clothes and faces look faded,
Not a life has lamented,
But the final loss seems vast,
And nature has found peace at last.

Synchronized Sounds

Alliteration- an art

The daring dark,
Stares straight- soulfully,
Benign bells bring to you,
The joy and jolt.

Glorious graves give great,
Hold high their heads,
Pole stars on the peak,
Love and laughter lies in the land.

Night names a nuisance,
Stars save a satellite,
Youth yells, it's yours,
Try and take with the tide.

Raindrops rig a rainbow,
Hedgehogs help the homeless,
Flowers fail the fruitless,
Alliteration- an art.

Carla

I met her in a niche of the ancient bough,
Her name was Carla; she told me so,
That was Carla- rosy red,
Beneath the silent, brown bowed head.

Clinging to a hopeless faith,
A long and silent fruitless wait,
But heaven sees what goes on,
Golden thunder, blue sky- born.

Wonder cairns form tall arches,
Hanging from the listless branches,
Falls to the ground around,
Loving Carla, with her rhythmic sound.

Sixty songs all burn out too,
There's nothing for her to sing anew,
So she lies in the shade of the blistering birch,
While hymns for her echo from the church.

Safety forsakes her for better times,
The world gets away with their bitter crimes,
But she waits; grows much more,
Grows her wings and tries to soar.

But can she escape, beauty-bound,
Because of the treasure that she found?
Because Carla, with her mute language,
Grows sad,and gives way to rage.

Golden Labour

Hurry! hurry- the bells quick too-
For the freedom of the country be,
My, the might- the cries
Of brotherhood and of liberty!

Faces of the younger ones
Make true fears to the old-
But however may you try,
You can't turn everything,
Into gold.

Because we are determined,
And I shall- lead you,
To a place which is free,
For you to be,
Jingled memories! finer hands,
Which do not hard work,
But labour lands.

Loads upon the back,
Sands upon the deep blue sea-
Golden scenes present:
Don't they? A lovely bride- to- be?

The lighted lamps of the cursed night,
Will glow till they burn out-
But will they last long enough;
For villains to close their mouth?

Then how can they grasp,
The deepening foot,
That sinks into the marsh,
Yet struggling and harsh;
To be what they said they would.

A Tale of Laventina

Once upon a time, there was a secluded place right at the edge of the Universe. This place had the charming name of ‘Laventina’.
Laventina was supposedly a real heaven.
Just as the Earth is home to inhabitants called humans, similarly, the land of Laventina was home to people known as ‘Lavens’ and ‘Lavenas’.
Laventina was sometimes even referred to as “Le Pays des Femmes”, or “The Country of Women.”
Laventina was a beautiful place, full of strange and wonderful magic. And all this magic was created by the beautiful women whom they lovingly knew as ‘Lavenas’.
The skilled Laven architects of the land were apt in their art, and Laventina housed several magnificent marble mansions, stone palaces, and gold temples.
Now, in the enchanting land of Laventina, the women were allowed much freedom. The women, or the Lavenas, did all sorts of jobs such as painting, sculpture, cooking, writing, designing splendid architectural technology, and producing medicines.
There was one...

Ghost

Behind the hollow curtains,
Moves a black shadow,
A figure, sliding noiselessly,
Diving deep.

Into the fear of my fears,
The dark, the mysterious,
How could I see,
What was coming after me?

Hull of silent white,
Shadow of you over my nose,
Trying to make me remember you,
Even after you're dead.

Don't scare me,
Because I've left you in your peace,
Don't give me nightmares,
Because they don't let me sleep.

Tearing away at my window,
Howling, creepy sounds,
Ghostly songs ring through the night,
And I break out in a sweat.
 

Always There

Angels bear you,
Lights see you,
And I see you, too.

Hollow souls find you,
They kiss you,
Violins work their way to harbour,
Your talents in one.

Big leaps cover,
The distance you had left,
Gleaming upon your heart.

Flowers grow,
Birds will nest,
And a world will live.

You grow old,
But you never fade away,
So I love you,
Ad you'll stay by me.

Loving hearts bless us,
Gods look upon us,
Watch upon us,
And the stars are always there.
 

Creature View

Black Cat!

The bars of the light blue cage rattled slightly. Bubble opened one eye lazily. His deep sleep had been broken by some mysterious creature which he evidently regarded as a predator. His scratching feet woke Boo up, who lay nuzzled beside him. 
She too opened her eyes, and started in alarm at what she saw before her.

A black furry paw had sneaked into the cage through the gap between the bars. Two fluorescent yellow eyes bored into the cage. And a meow-meow was enough to trigger the danger alarm for Bubble and Boo. They began to scrabble around, scared and panicked. The black cat tried it's best to reach the rabbits with her paws, but she always seemed an inch or two short. 
She tipped over the water bowl in her excitement, and bent the cage bars in her frustration. 

While Bubble and Boo still tore about in their anxiety, the cat disappeared round the corner where it had...

Writing Synapses

"Exploring the Unexplored"

                                                "Exploring the Unexplored"

PROMPT - Explore the world right from where you are.

Every corner of the Earth can never be familiar to mankind. But do explorers give up hope? No, they don't. So I'm sure the world would appreciate your contribution.

Today, define your idea of a hidden or undiscovered place, or even a monument that has just been unearthed. It may something which you have seen while travelling, or it may even be purely a figment of your imagination.
Also describe your part of the narrative of your experience in that place. 

Whether it is a village, where sanitary conditions are unimaginable, or a few bones of Cleopatra are dug out of your parking lot- write about something that you want the world to notice. A place you want mapped on Google Maps. A...

Beyond the City

Beyond the hustle-bustle of a metropolitan city- Kolkata, lies a coastal town- Mandarmani. Maybe a well-enough known place for tourists. But is it well-known for the quiet village life of the natives?

As I walked along the coast,along the blue sea, outlined with silt deposits, I thought- "Hey, I do this on every holiday. Is there something else besides the sea, when I come for a beach holiday?" And so I left the sea, and I began walking towards the village. 

The road led to a dirt trail raised above the crop-fields, with small fishing lakes on both sides. Blue and purple Nymphaea stellata grew in the water, anchored with their long green stalks. 

A bit further on, I could see mud huts. There were brown-skinned children running around, and older girls casting fishing nets in the small lakes. I watched as a a dozen or so fish were trapped in one of the nets, and they were immediately flung...

Unbelievable Food

Frocolate

Finding excuses to avoid your fruit? Well, don't. I used to be like that, but I guess it's just not worth it, after I invented this dish minutes ago.

All you'll need is a simple assortment of your favorite fruits, and some bare necessities, which you'll have no problem in finding. Here are my preferences-

  1. Sliced bananas
  2. Cubed apples
  3. Halved grapes
  4. Halved strawberries
  5. Cubed papaya
  6. Fresh curd (1 medium sized bowl)
  7. White/Brown sugar
  8. 1 bar of milk chocolate/dark chocolate broken into small pieces
In a big bowl, add your preferred fruits. Add the sugar to the curd. Then mix in the curd with the fruits, not too much, take care that the whole thing does not become too runny.

Just sprinkle the chocolate pieces over your fruit-and-curd mixture.

Enjoy! 

Unbelievable Food

Frocolate

Finding excuses to avoid your fruit? Well, don't. I used to be like that, but I guess it's just not worth it, after I invented this dish minutes ago.

All you'll need is a simple assortment of your favorite fruits, and some bare necessities, which you'll have no problem in finding. Here are my preferences-

  1. Sliced bananas
  2. Cubed apples
  3. Halved grapes
  4. Halved strawberries
  5. Cubed papaya
  6. Fresh curd (1 medium sized bowl)
  7. White/Brown sugar
  8. 1 bar of milk chocolate/dark chocolate broken into small pieces
In a big bowl, add your preferred fruits. Add the curd, not too much, take care that the whole thing doesn't become too runny.
Mix in the sugar with a spoon, stirring fast. 

Two ways to add your chocolate
  1. Just sprinkle the chocolate pieces over your fruit-and-curd mixture.
  2. Heat the chocolate in a pan, until it melts. Add this melted chocolate to your fruit-and-curd mixture.
Enjoy! 

Amour Au Monde

Les arbres dansent; Regarde jolie
Les fleurs sont symboliques de l'amour,
En amour, nous chantons,
Du livre de l'amour.
Le monde est très beau,
Regardez! Comme! nos familles,
Et nos amis, nous aimons!
Vous avez votre amour,
Votre famille, vos amis,
Mais vous ne les aimez pas,
Pourquoi?
L'amour est fini,
Non, vous n'aimez pas votre monde,
Ou faites-vous?
Oui, votre amour, c'est le bel amour.

I Remember

I Remember

And she opened her eyes.

I remember how I had wished for a sibling, who was friendly, yet not annoying. I remember that I hadn't cared whether I got a brother or a sister. I remember the first and last day when I set foot in the hospital. I remember the room, where my mother lay, with something delightful in her lap. I remember how I got someone friendly, but my 'annoying' condition wasn't fulfilled.

I remember, my sister, she was named 'Atiriya' the "one who is rare".

Op-Ed Competition

Sanitation and Development in Indian Schools

By the lack of sanitation in India, I am not only referring to the rural areas. My school is situated in an urban area, and it houses the same problems as one would expect in less-developed areas. 
I live in Noida, which is supposed to be one of the leading cities in the country. Therefore, I see no particular lack of resources for such conditions to be practiced in a private school.

To ensure a better tomorrow, one of the biggest hopes are educated and aware children. Generally, the school is presented with the credit of being a place, where the child completes multiple phases of education and awareness. This is why, the issue of illiteracy is becoming recognized. And this issue is usually linked to poverty and lack of resources. But this ultimately leads to the issue of hygiene, because many parents are reluctant to send young kids to school because of unhygienic conditions. This is because of numerous...

Why?

She is made to be free,

The symbol of love.

She is made to be loved,

And she forsakes her freedom,

For you.

Then why do you not love her?

Why do you not set her free?

When she does all for you,

Why don't you do a little for her?

She dies for you,

You snatch her little girl away,

From the world, it's life,

Just because she will grow up to be a woman,

Through no fault of hers.

But then she will be the one,

To go through all the pain,

To bear your precious son,

Then you discard her all over again.

Why?

She Is All, And She Does It All

A woman is your family.

A woman is your whole world.

And she has the right to be all this.

And she has the right to be thanked.

She is the one to extend your lineage.

She bears the pain.

She cries for you; begs for you; dies for you.

What do you do for her?

She takes care of you.

She puts you and your children to sleep.

She runs the errands.

She gives you your meals on time.

She tells you where you are going wrong.

She tries to put your troubles right.

She is a daughter; a wife; a mother; or a sister to you.

You are her father; her husband; her son; her brother.

And she has the right to your protection.

She has the right to smile at you.

She has the right to education.

She has the right to act without your permission.

She has the right to be what she wants.

She has...

Op-Ed Competition

Sanitation and Development in Indian Schools

Sanitation not only affects health, but the literacy rate and education as well. Development is even more important. Where there is continuous development, there are educated minds.” 

To ensure a better tomorrow, one of the biggest hopes are educated and aware children. Generally, the school is presented with the credit of being a place, where the child completes multiple phases of education and awareness. This is why, the issue of illiteracy is becoming recognized. And this issue is usually linked to poverty and lack of resources. But what we don’t realize is that there are other reasons due to which children may possess the desire to either be home-schooled or drop out of school altogether. 

The first reason is sanitation. I can really relate to this topic, as in my own school, the washrooms are in a terrible condition. And it’s not like the school isn’t aware. They know; they get feedback forms filled by the parents at every parent...

Op-Ed Competition

Sanitation and Development in Indian Schools

“Sanitation not only affects health, but the literacy rate and education as well. Development is even more important. Where there is continuous development, there are educated minds.”
To ensure a better tomorrow, one of the biggest hopes are educated and aware children. Generally, the school is presented with the credit of being a place, where the child completes multiple phases of education and awareness. This is why, the issue of illiteracy is becoming recognised. And this issue is usually linked to poverty and lack of resources. But what we don’t realise is that there are other reasons due to which children may possess the desire to either be home-schooled or drop out of school altogether.
The first reason is sanitation. I can really relate to this topic, as in my own school, the washrooms are in a terrible condition. And it’s not like the school isn’t aware. They know; they get feedback forms filled by the parents at every...

Op-Ed Competition

Sanitation and Development in Indian Schools

“Sanitation not only affects health, but the literacy rate and education as well. Development is even more important. Where there is continuous development, there are educated minds.”
To ensure a better tomorrow, one of the biggest hopes are educated and aware children. Generally, the school is presented with the credit of being a place, where the child completes multiple phases of education and awareness. This is why, the issue of illiteracy is becoming recognised. And this issue is usually linked to poverty and lack of resources. But what we don’t realise is that there are other reasons due to which children may possess the desire to either be home-schooled or drop out of school altogether.
The first reason is sanitation. I can really relate to this topic, as in my own school, the washrooms are in a terrible condition. And it’s not like the school isn’t aware. They know; they get feedback forms filled by the parents at every...

The Tree's Cry

Trembled like a leaf before,

The tall and mighty tree,

And those around could feel,

The suffering I had to see.

For the bark seemed to cry out-

I’m being chopped down-

And the leaves, they, were deprived,

Of the joy of autumn’s fall.

But yet the killers did not heed,

The woeful cries and pleas,

But the tree’s cry reached my ears,

Over mountains and overseas.

Beyond Reason

The Fault Lies Within Us

Is our mind not a silent hell,
Where divine thoughts fail to gain,
And the actions of our souls,
Do they not refrain?
From what is right?

And when we think of our own well-being,
Are we not being so selfish,
That the Lord will give us all something,
Which we truly deserve?

Is the earth not going far-away,
From being our future home?
And are we not to think about,
The green nature's love,
For us all?

Is a girl not a human,
And does a woman not have a voice?
Do we, the females, the silent benefactors,
Have not a right to live?
In the world that has a stereotype,
So very wrong.

Is life to blame for all,
That we suffer in agony,
How can we expect peace,
When the fault is within us,
That we never recognise?

Does the world not need our help,
And is it not our duty?
To know and feel for mankind, ...

School Uniforms

The main aim that the school authorities have in mind, when they design the uniform, is that all students should look alike, as much as possible. But what they don't think is that the uniform may not be liked by every student. It is always a standard fact that people wear what they like, and it increases their confidence. For instance, wearing the color grey- which is a very common color with regards to uniforms- may make some students feel unconfident, if they think that they don't look good in grey. 

So my opinion is that school uniforms should be decided upon, after careful consideration of the mindset of various students. I am not saying that school uniforms should be banned, as that will only lead to more confusion. Instead, a color combination should be assigned, and people may wear whatever they want according to the colors assigned. 

School Uniforms

The main aim that the school authorities have in mind, when they design the uniform, is that all students should look alike, as much as possible. But what they don't think is that the uniform may not be liked by every student. It is always a standard fact that people wear what they like, and it increases their confidence. For instance, wearing the color grey- which is a very common color with regards to uniforms- may make some students feel unconfident, if they think that they don't look good in grey. 

So my opinion is that school uniforms should be decided upon, after careful consideration of the mindset of various students. I am not saying that school uniforms should be banned, as that will only lead to more confusion. Instead, a color combination should be assigned, and people may wear whatever they want according to the colors assigned.

Self and a Statistic

Internet

Writers share with other writer, and with the world.

But they stop holding a pen, and the long hours scribbling away.

So it no longer remains what 'Writing' originally means.

Invented Cartography

The Hayanak Civilization

Well, do you believe in heaven? Over the years, though people have continued to question the decision whether such a place really exists above our earth, but I don't have a firm answer. So let me introduce you to the Hayanak Civilization- a fictional place in the blue skies above us.

The white clouds surround the breathtaking scene. Looking up will reveal a hazy, yet sparkling scenery. In front of you, you see a massive bronze gate, carved with figures of lions and snakes and the sun, akin to the ancient Mayan Civilization. To the far, far left, you see a small stagnant pond, with blue water, as blue as cornflowers, and pink water-lilies floating on the surface, their bright green leaves contrasting strongly with the barren land outside the pond. You walk towards it, mesmerized. You bend down to touch the water, but instead, your hand grips an iron handle embedded in the soil. Your eyes flash back- the...

Your View

Ten Opinions

Opinions are an important aspect of today's world. Every opinion matters, however small.

  1. Never stop doing what you love.
  2. People should not be so ignorant about World War III.
  3. Global warming is becoming an extremely serious issue.
  4. Don't follow others; do what you think is right.
  5. Beware of Genetically Modified Organisms in your food.
  6. Be confident about yourself; dress how you think you look good, even if it means having your hair in tangles, and not clipping your long nails.
  7. Don't trust the media blindly.
  8. Check for allergies on your skin due to certain foods. Most people don't realize that they are suffering from allergies, until their immunity drops down drastically, and it's too late then.
  9. Maintain a regular or weekly journal; it really helps clear your mind.
  10. Take out some time for your family out of your busy personal life.

Your View

Ten Opinions

  1. Never stop doing what you love.
  2. People should not be so ignorant about World War III.
  3. Global warming is becoming an extremely serious issue.
  4. Don't follow others; do what you think is right.
  5. Beware of Genetically Modified Organisms in your food.
  6. Be confident about yourself; dress how you think you look good, even if it means having your hair in tangles, and not clipping your long nails.
  7. Don't trust the media blindly.
  8. Check for allergies on your skin due to certain foods. Most people don't realize that they are suffering from allergies, until their immunity drops down drastically, and it's too late then.
  9. Maintain a regular or weekly journal; it really helps clear your mind.
  10. Take out some time for your family out of your busy personal life.

A Childhood Love

Clinging to a helpless hope, have you;
Created yourself anew,
But I don't even recognise your face,
Now I know I lost the race,
Against you.

For all the lovely hopes I had,
It all came to nothing,
But even though we were still young,
It prompted us to sing,
The song of our hearts.

For both of us, this love is true,
But never be it washed ashore,
By the memories of the hard days,
When you left me for still more,
Though I gave you everything.

And your long glance at me,
I knew you had to see,
What feelings my heart held for you,
That you were one of the very few,
Who could love me truly,
Since childhood.

The Curse of the Hawk

"I'll never let you go, just like this. Sara!" cried Mark.

"Oh yes, you will, I know, you'll never remember me!" cried Sara, screaming with fury at Mark.

"No, Sara, NOOOOO!!!"

And the mighty hawk swooped down, clutched Sara, and flew back into the haze of the autumn sky.

                                                      * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . *

Many years later . . . .

"Oh, I'm free! The hawk no longer has power over me! I'm the old Sara, once again!" Sara's happiness had no bounds.
                                                     
                        ...

She Will Have Her Revenge: Freedom is Her Birthright.

A few days ago, I started reading the book- "I am Malala" by Malala Yousafzai. I am not going to speak about the book. But about why the book matters. The question which should be put at the foremost mind of the world, is that, "Even after all their efforts, all the pain they go through, why are women still trampled upon, and not recognized?" 
Yes, silence may be counted upon as a good thing to practice in some communities. But why is it forcefully imposed upon one specific gender? Why are men seen as capable of doing what they want, and women as incapable of even dreaming to reach heights? Why?

Women have never threatened the world, for the world to see them as inferior, or something to be silenced. In fact, people don't realize that they have come into existence only because of women, who they now refuse to accept as a strong member of society. Why are...

Foreign Correspondent Competition

Kuri, the Robot Nanny

Today, I invite you to the world of robotics, through the discovery of an amazing robot, which can really make your day go smoothly.
Everyday, we see some new cool gadget or the other forming the headlines of the day’s news. Every month, some robot is launched to either clean up your house, do your shopping, play music, and do much more to make your day easier.
“At first, I thought Kuri would be a bit like an Amazon Echo strapped to a set of wheels. In practice, Kuri doesn't have nearly the functionality of the Echo -- it's more of a roving security cam with a blue-tooth speaker than an always-listening, multi-purpose assistant.” says one of Kuri’s users.
Between all the new technology, what all of us need is something simple to charm our eyesight. And this new security-on-wheels is just the thing. Created by Mayfield Robotics and announced on January 3, 2017, Kuri the Robot is like your watchman...

Foreign Correspondent Competition

Kuri, the Robot Nanny

Today, I invite you to the world of robotics, through the discovery of an amazing robot, which can really make your day go smoothly.
Everyday, we see some new cool gadget or the other forming the headlines of the day’s news. Every month, some robot is launched to either clean up your house, do your shopping, play music, and do much more to make your day easier.
“At first, I thought Kuri would be a bit like an Amazon Echo strapped to a set of wheels. In practice, Kuri doesn't have nearly the functionality of the Echo -- it's more of a roving security cam with a bluetooth speaker than an always-listening, multi-purpose assistant.” says one of Kuri’s users.
Between all the new technology, what all of us need is something simple to charm our eyesight. And this new security-on-wheels is just the thing. Created by Mayfield Robotics, Kuri the Robot is like your watchman when you’re away. It updates...

SANCCOB- SOUTHERN AFRICAN FOUNDATION FOR THE CONSERVATION OF COASTAL BIRDS- Skype Visit with host Tamlyn Hardy

SANCCOB is a south african organisation for the treatment of seabirds. My class had a skype call with Tamlyn Hardy, from the organisation. He took us on a visual visit of the organisation and the living quarters for the african penguins which they concentrate on.
We were shown a baby penguin. With a black back, and white stripes on the face.
A penguin called “Stubby” was made into a character, who let us read a bit about the organisation. But Stubby is a real penguin living organisation. It felt as if he was our host.
Stubby belongs to an endangered species of the african penguin.
He lives in Cape Town, South Africa. We were shown a picture of Cape Town- a beautiful little island, with table mountains.
Then we saw the life stages of an African penguin.
I can’t remember much. They start as chicks. Then they get a bluish grey color. Then comes the time when the parents say-...

Music

Music is VERY important to me. I am able to admit it openly. I wouldn’t be what I am today if it wasn’t for music and rhythm today. I wouldn’t be able to write. I’d forget what I’d learnt in a minute. I wouldn’t be able to sleep peacefully. Music is half of my life. Music, beats, dance, and songs have become such a prominent part of my life, or rather me, that if its not there, I feel kind of empty.
Even if not music, maybe you listen to instruments or play one yourself. I like listening to the soothing notes of a guitar, and Beethoven too. I like the beat of the base drums. I don’t like the sound of an electric guitar, but maybe someone else does. All I’m saying is that instruments too play an important part in complimenting your mood, and keeping you refreshed and happy throughout the day.
Even in the middle of tests,...

The Autobiography of a Tiger

I can still remember those good old times when I used to roam free in my forest home. But . . . now it doesn’t bear thinking about. It makes me cry to recall all those memories. To think of how there just about a thousand of us left in the wild. And how I was captured, tortured, and now . . . . in contrast to everything, they have completely diminished the little pride I had, by imprisoning and putting me on show!
I would assume a king’s attitude, and strut around the forest as if my word was command. Long naps during the day, and work at night. By work, I mean, I have to catch my own food. The plump deer and other animals always look so inviting when my stomach is growling. I used to stalk them, and then by the time they came to know . . . too late for them. I would pounce...

Defeating Unfairness

A silent tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped it away with a strong hand. Why had the words made her cry? She was left wondering.  .  .  .
Practice had been her one and only occupation of time. As her trained hand flew lightly over the strings of her old and dusty guitar, she thought, that what difference does the age of the guitar make? Even if it’s old, I find that it can still produce as melodious tunes as ever. She had not attended any guitar classes. It was all self training. But that became a weakness during the most important time of her career.
She sent her recording to the guitar contest audition of the World Music Festival 2016. And her joy knew no bounds when she was shortlisted to audition. But she still had the audition to get through. She drove to the auditorium, her heart beating fast. She nervously anticipated what was to come. ...

Why Should She Cry?

She did not like anyone, anyone at all. She felt that the world was mocking at her behind her back. She was an orphan with nobody on her side. In her childhood, when she was about six years old, she had been affected by a severe case of polio. And now she always had to walk, leaning on her crutches. For her, this world was cursed, and it's inhabitants  too. Before her disease, she was an excellent runner. She had wanted to pursue the career of an athlete- her legs had meant a lot to her. . . . .
Now, everything had changed. She wanted to take part in the Olympics. . . . . she could not.
Soon she found a new ray of hope. As luck would have it, she stumbled upon an article on the World famous Paralympics, an event for the disabled. Her dead dreams were alive again.She saw the silver lining of the dark...

What if Kids were taken Seriously?

What if Kids were Taken Seriously???. . .
Perhaps we should give it a try.It may lead to the world changing for good.Here is a list of some of the great changes in the world that could happen if children were taken seriously.
1. Office and Attention-The main cause of children becoming spoilt,selfish or antisocial is the continual decrease of attention given to them by their parents or guardians. Some parents are so busy with their personal life that they leave children to manage for themselves. True,children do learn to be independent and stand on their own feet,but they also are cut off from a normal childhood,and instead are neglected and become lonely.Thus,if they were allowed to have their own way,children would close all offices,so as to spend time with their parents.
2. Believe in your child-What about the times when children go to parents or guardians with complaints of bullying or molestation?They are laughed off and forgotten.Trust...

Yoga and Meditation

Yoga and Meditation
When you’re sitting all alone, what do you think of? Don’t deny it, because everyone finds time during the day to sit quietly. Sitting quietly by yourself means meditating, even if you’re not sitting down with the intention of meditating. You may just want to ponder over some trifling matter, or even some disturbing thought, that you can feel is affecting your health, happiness, and peace of mind.
Meditation affects your body in a positive way. At meditation clubs, or even an instructor will tell you to sit with your legs crossed, and your hands on your knees, palm upwards, with the forefinger tip touching the thumb’s tip, and the other three fingers curved towards you. Another way is to keep your hands crossed, with the fingers of both hands locking each other. No fingertip should be free.
This is because, when you’re meditating, a positive energy flows through you. The nerve endings are at your fingertips....

Foreign Correspondent Competition

Kuri, the Robot Nanny

A very good day to you. I am Aliyah Banerjee, reporting to you from Techno News. Today, I invite you to the world of robotics, through the discovery of an amazing robot, which can really make your day go smoothly.
Everyday, we see some new cool gadget or the other forming the headlines of the day’s news. Every month, some robot is launched to either clean up your house, or do your shopping, or play music, and do much more to make your day easier.
Between all the new technology that is cramming our brains every second, what all of us need is something simple to charm our tired eyesight. And this new security-on-wheels is just the thing. Created by Mayfield Robotics, Kuri the Robot is like your own personal watchman when you’re away. It updates you on every bit of disorder in your house through a camera. Some interviews also revealed that the primary idea behind Kuri’s creation was...

Mindvalley Academy Masterclass- Part 2

Before you start reading this post, make sure you read Part-I first, which was posted earlier on this very site.
Some sort of “Tangerine” technique is one of Paul Scheele’s favorite reading methods. He says that it puts your brain in the right state for the work demanded of reading.
Tangerine Method Of Photoreading
Reach out and pick up an imaginary tangerine (a citrus fruit) from the table in front of you. Move it from hand to hand, and get a feeling of it- the size, the shape, the weight, the texture of the skin, visualise the orange color, maybe even feel the smell of it.
Take the tangerine and touch it to the top back part of your head. Now take your hand away, and let your face, body, and everything remain in that relaxed state. It instantly puts your brain in the ideal state for the work demanded.
2nd attempt- using Tangerine Method
20 seconds
I read-
9...

Mindvalley Academy Masterclass- Part 1

I recently took this class on increasing reading and learning speed offered by Mindvalley Academy. The class was conducted by Paul R. Scheele, co-founder of Learning Strategies Corporation. And this class was AMAZING. I really want you to learn from it too, so I’m gonna share the notes which I took during the class. During the class itself, we made three attempts at reading for 20 seconds. The first attempt was to see how fast we could read now. The second and third attempts showed very gradual but steady improvement as a result of using techniques.
The first thing that I was told before the class officially began, is- “You normally take a week to read a good and lengthy book.”                                                                                ...

What Holds Us Back?

Yes, what holds us back against our own wishes? It is a consequence that chains us from being free and achieving our passions. Guess what it is? It’s fear.                                                  
 Not the kind of fear of the dark, but the kind of fear which originates from the root of our own hearts. The fear of the outcome. Of consciousness. Why are we so conscious about what people will think about us? We should be able to disregard all other negative opinions and just do what we tell ourselves to.
Since we have not lived on our own from the very first day we were born, we were raised to believe in certain things, to refrain from doing certain things, to avoid certain people and habits, and to respect certain people. Yes, by the latter, I do...

The Myriad

The clear and misty dawn you see,
But the ringing bells of hope you hear,
Rain as golden as honey; your sweet,
Melody is there to remember forever.
 
Regarding the cherry blossoms in day,
Iced with snow, and silver shear,
Yet herein, among the frost and ice,
The lively sound rings in the ear.
 
Drowsy from a long night’s sleep,
And a thousand drooping willows,
But yet the voice of dawn calls,
From beneath the shady hallows.
 
Yet from the chill within the air,
In the wilderness of the world beyond,
And sixty miles forth I go,
To the dawn’s rhythmic song.
 
Words in harmonic chorus;
Echo a resounding love,
And in the blackness of the dreary night,
The blossoms fail to bloom.
 
Cupped in the hands of the forsaken,
That book of treasured memories,
And to whispered conditions in secret,
The winds in the vale agree.
 
Swollen and tear-bidden eyes,
Will maybe cry...

Hurried Words

Hurried words make you regret,
But who can mend them now,
And then again, when you are here,
You never try to make up.
Long looks at you reveal,
Your faulty attitude,
Because you never realize your wrong,
So you fall deeper down.
And then you see my sorrow,
When you now come to know,
That I suffered because of you,
And you alone.

A Starting to a Short Story....

The sound of the sea could be heard all the more clearly through the palm trees on both sides of the dark coast road. Dim, yellow lights provided a scanty view of the lonesome houses standing tall. But one thing acted as a guide to the sea ahead. It was the rushing sound of the waves. And I kept walking along the coast road. Yes, I loved adventures. And  .  .  .  this was just the thing. The darkness of the night gave a sense of adventure to the lonesome walk. The stars above gave a sense of peace. And the beam of light from the lighthouse ahead seemed to cast creepy shadows on the road. But I didn’t care. I was never one to believe in the ‘ghost’ thing.

After an hour or so, the road began to crumble into sand. I noticed every detail carefully, because I loved it all. I shook my feet, and tried to shake...

Foreign Correspondent Competition

Kuri, the Robot Nanny

A very good day to you. I am Aliyah Banerjee, reporting to you from Techno News. Today, I invite you to the world of robotics, through the discovery of an amazing robot, which can really make your day go smoothly.
Everyday, we see some new cool gadget or the other forming the headlines of the day’s news. Every month, some robot is launched to either clean up your house, or do your shopping, or play music, and do much more to make your day easier.
Between all the new technology that is cramming our brains every second, what all of us need is something simple to charm our tired eyesight. And this new security-on-wheels is just the thing. Created by Mayfield Robotics, Kuri the Robot is like your own personal watchman when you’re away. It updates you on every bit of disorder in your house through a camera.
When you bring Kuri home for the first time, it explores just...

Foreign Correspondent Competition

Kuri, the Robot Nanny

A very good day to you. I am Aliyah Banerjee, reporting to you from Techno News. Today, I invite you to the world of robotics, through the discovery of an amazing robot, which can really make your day go smoothly.
Everyday, we see some new cool gadget or the other forming the headlines of the day’s news. Every month, some robot is launched to either clean up your house, or do your shopping, or play music, and do much more to make your day easier.
Between all the new technology that is cramming our brains every second, what all of us need is something simple to charm our tired eyesight. And this new security-on-wheels is just the thing. Created by Mayfield Robotics, Kuri the Robot is like your own personal watchman when you’re away. It updates you on every bit of disorder in your house through a camera.
When you bring Kuri home for the first time, it explores just...

Names, Names, Names

Namely Inventions

A very interesting prompt indeed. I agree that deciding upon names are one of the most challenging tasks of a learning writer. Here are my names for the following-

  
A breakfast joint - "Wake Up, With a Hot Cup"

A new smartphone - "Nulips"

An eyeglasses store - "Vivid Sights"

A dog pound - "Under a Furry Roof"

A highway - "Country Crossroad"

An island resort - "Villa de Amour"

A new constellation - "High Stars"

A pet polar bear - "Snowlara"

A nail polish color - "Moonshine"

A new butterfly species - "Sweetpea de Vie"

Becoming Human

Gone with the dawn

Brilliant in their silent life,
in sorrows, the first to grieve,
but yes, also the first to smile,
when the world opens up,
under their love-filled light.
Fountains and the springs all full,
shine under their bliss,
their hopeful appearance,
nevertheless, is the first to lose hope,
and burn out of life forever.
The silver stars,
on the black dark eve,
saying something new,
conveying a message,
that you've never heard before.
They will look at you,
and smile all you like,
they will swim away,
when the dawn sets in,
and when you return,
they'll be no longer there.
Your stars will be gone.

From A Young Writer- On Writing

Writing is like painting. Not just because they’re both arts. But because, writers paint with words, just like artists paint with colors. A beautiful painting is pleasing to the human eye. You look at an amazing painting, and you’re mesmerised. But writing can be even more beautiful. It awakens certain feelings in you, which nothing else can. Writing is like the water, which helps a dry seed blossom into a plant. It helps your emotions blossom out, and make your life a fairytale.
The reason I chose to write this book, or article, or guide- whatever you may call it, is that I have experienced a variety of problems and little delights through writing, even though I haven’t written for long, maybe just four or five years at the most. I’m not yet a writer. But I love writing, as much as I love myself. When I’m weak, writing gives me the strength I need. When I’m discouraged after...

TV Pilot Competition

Allergic Realisation



Scene I- INTERIOR-KITCHEN-MORNING

(In the kitchen, a small girl- ATIRIYA, an elder girl-ALIYAH, and their MOTHER are talking. MOTHER is stirring something in a giant pan, and the children seem very angry)

(The kitchen can be pictured as a large cheerful space, with yellow walls adorned with pictures of the family in various avatars. In the far corner, there is a big refrigerator, and in the middle, stands a huge oak dining table.)

ATIRIYA- V.O.

Atiriya: (screaming) . . . . and you keep your mouth shut! I’ve recovered now! Let me have a chocolate! I don't wanna have the same breakfast! 

Mother: (frowning) No! You know you had an enormous stomach upset just a few days ago. Chocolate will make you throw up again! And stop arguing everyday! My super-famous breakfast is FAB-ASTIC!!! (IMITATES A TRUMPETING SOUND)

Aliyah: (sniffing hungrily) What’s for breakfast, Ma? Oh, bananas and
porridge again? Oh, my breakfasting heavens, save me! The bananas have...

TV Pilot Competition

Allergic Realisation



Scene I- INTERIOR-KITCHEN-MORNING

(In the kitchen, a small girl- ATIRIYA, an elder girl-ALIYAH, and their MOTHER are talking. MOTHER is stirring something in a giant pan, and the children seem very angry)

(The kitchen can be pictured as a large cheerful space, with yellow walls adorned with pictures of the family in various avatars. In the far corner, there is a big refrigerator, and in the middle, stands a huge oak dining table.)

ATIRIYA- V.O.

Atiriya: (screaming) . . . . and you keep your mouth shut! I’ve recovered now! Let me have a chocolate! I don't wanna have the same breakfast! 

Mother: (frowning) No! You know you had an enormous stomach upset just a few days ago. Chocolate will make you throw up again! And stop arguing everyday! My super-famous breakfast is FAB-ASTIC!!! (IMITATES A TRUMPETING SOUND)

Aliyah: (sniffing hungrily) What’s for breakfast, Ma? Oh, bananas and
porridge again? Oh, my breakfasting heavens, save me! The bananas have...

TV Pilot Competition

Allergic Realisation



Scene I- INTERIOR-KITCHEN-MORNING

(In the kitchen, a small girl- ATIRIYA, an elder girl-ALIYAH, and their MOTHER are talking. MOTHER is stirring something in a giant pan, and the children seem very angry)

ATIRIYA- V.O.

Atiriya: (screaming) . . . . and you keep your mouth shut! I’ve recovered now! Let me have a chocolate! I don't wanna have the same breakfast! 

Mother: (frowning) No! You know you had an enormous stomach upset just a few days ago. Chocolate will make you throw up again! And stop arguing everyday! My super-famous breakfast is FAB-ASTIC!!! (IMITATES A TRUMPETING SOUND)

Aliyah: (sniffing hungrily) What’s for breakfast, Ma? Oh, bananas and
porridge again? Oh, my breakfasting heavens, save me! The bananas have started tasting like cardboard to me these days!

Atiriya: What are breakfasting heavens, Didi?

Aliyah: (grinning) Heavens that swallow you up if you refuse to eat your breakfast! You don’t want that to happen, do you? So don’t scream for chocolate!
...

TV Pilot Competition

Allergic Realisation



Scene I

(In the kitchen, a small girl-Atiriya, an elder girl-Aliyah, and a lady-their mother are talking. The lady is stirring something in a giant pan, and the children seem very angry)

Atiriya: (screaming) . . . . and you keep your mouth shut! I’ve recovered now! Let me have a chocolate!
Mother: (frowning) No! You know you had an enormous stomach upset just a few days ago. Chocolate will make you throw up again!
Aliyah: (sniffing hungrily) What’s for breakfast, Ma? Oh, bananas and
porridge again? Oh, my breakfasting heavens, save me!
Atiriya: What are breakfasting heavens, Didi?
Aliyah: (grinning) Heavens that swallow you up if you refuse to eat your breakfast! You don’t want that to happen, do you? So don’t scream for chocolate!
Atiriya: (sulking) I think I’ll go to the breakfasting heavens, thank you!

(kitchen door slams)

Scene II

(In her room, Atiriya is twirling round and round to ballet music)

Atiriya: . . ....

My December Competition

'Deliciously Decemberly'

“December starts. The year’s about to end. December ends. Another year’s about to start.”
In every nook and cranny of the world, December may as well have something special about it. Well, in India, December does not hold such a great place, maybe. But this very December- December 2016- does ring a bell to me.
For one thing, our winter vacation will start in December. But the school is one big fool. They start the vacation AFTER Christmas. And end on about January 6. Only 10-11 holidays! No fun at all!
But this December? It's BIG for me. Because, I love poetry. I've been writing poems since I was nine. And I've compiled fifty of my best poems into a book. Titled- "Missconceptions". Yes, with the double 's'. Because it means that this book contains 'Miss Aliyah's Conceptions." Humorously shortened to "Missconceptions." It's going to be published about halfway through December.
Alright. You may not know how big this...

Aaliyah's 14 Likes

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