The Ghosts of Avenue

Garima Mahajan When you live a life like I do, there’s not much you can do except peep. Many would love to place me in the categorical section of Peeping Toms. But I’m different in the sense that I’m dead. Confining me to the typical would not be a good decision on your part becauseContinue

Escaping Doom

Anisha Gupta I told my mother, Not to let anyone in. After all,  Every person has his demons. And yes, It’s the bloody stare In his eyes That makes him Half-dead. Now she still, Goes around sitting In front of a giant Geometrical pattern. She would light candles That were infused, With scented flowers. ButContinue

My Baby Girl and The Pendulum

Medha Nandini Sometime ago, I read a torn page from the diary of my dying neighbour, “nothing is more painful than the simple act of waiting”.  Maybe he was waiting to die. I saw him die. In front of my eyes. Numb, soar, in pain. I had torn the page from his diary and keptContinue

I Slept With It

Bhavika Sachan  No choice… A rising swell Of green and yellow florescence; Like Jelly, so thick and shiny,  Leaves behind trails of its existence. Somewhere, from the attic… A sweep of wind, Will-o’-the-Wisp Tiptoes across the stairs.  The creep awakening, yawns of emptiness,  Engulfed in darkness,  Peeping through the cellar door. The rise and fallContinue

Plummeted Solitude

Shruti Dear future ‘self’ I hope you are in the pink of your health, doing justice to your responsibilities, and at the same time enjoying them. You see, it has never been a tranquil task to apprise you about a prominent thing I feel so deeply about, I care so profoundly about and at theContinue

Dear Halloween

Siddhi Joshi Dear Halloween,As the ambiance of pumpkin spice latte and fall leaves kissing the ground, getting ready for a perfect atmosphere to welcome you to this foreign land, I am stumbling with apprehensions casting a shadow on me. I realize that instead of half-dangling spiders and creepy old castles, I am the most scaredContinue

Interwoven

Nandini Duhan In my heart resides a lonely witch -her hand grinds herbs,mine writes insipid poetry.There is tenderness woven, into my bitter verses;there is love layered, in her cruel curses. We treasure once-loved objects – and hold them to our chest,(To curse? To cry?)Our yearning in ambiguity dressed.  Like a vampire of a spine-chilling tale,my mind,belongs to centuries worthContinue