Grooming for love with religious motivations must be stopped — How long will you stay silent? How many more girls must die? How many murder videos will it take, to turn your sobbing into a valiant cry? No authority will help you, they all want precious votes, while innocent get duped into love, then slaughtered like goats. How does a handful of cases matter? they will trick you with such reasoning, but when another brutal case surfaces, our awareness starts deepening.

It is tough but worth it — It’s been a long wait, yet the wait goes on. Passing time weighs upon me, withering me, taking bits of me with it, leaving bits of me behind. I am scattered and broken, yet becoming whole with experience. I am lost and confused, Yet becoming aware with wisdom. No longer do I yearn for the wait to be over. It’s the waiting that brings me closer to myself. Join The Power of Poetry. 💚 Community Rules. The Rituals of Poets

Step-by-step is more effective — It keeps piling, stacking one atop the other. The bundle towers over my willpower. Multiple bundles surround me, each urging for my attention. They seem to inch closer as they grow taller. I frantically look for an opening, to squeeze out of this. I manage to crawl out or walk out…

It is so convenient that it is not easy to break up and move on — It wakes me up. It puts me to sleep. It keeps me on my toes, with its untimely sonorous beeps. It stays in my hand, or lounges in my pocket. Inseparable from me the whole day, at night I plug it into the socket. I need it every morning, to fire…

A poem about the slow decline of the oldest living civilization — When our own history is distorted to devoid us of our rightful pride and agency. When our own ancestors are declared mythical in textbooks shoved into the young minds. When our own contributions to the world are dissociated with our culture to make it more acceptable to narrow minds. That…

They deserve respect too — We take their love like an entitled bloke, But we grope them in a crowd till they choke. They accept our insecurities, our egos they feed. Yet we slap them till their gentle skin bleeds. Why do we hurt our women? We give them hell while they serve us heaven. …

Let the woman decide — Which life is more important? The one with hopes and dreams, with roles and responsibilities, with dependents and admirers, Or the one with just a beating heart? A woman’s womb is open to public scrutiny, Abort and you face a heavy penalty, But if not, you suffer for eternity. Will the state take responsibility for the baby born by legal mandate? Will the pro-life champions ensure a good quality of life for an unwanted arrival?

A poem about feeling alone in this world — When you pour your heart out. They sip it slowly like fine wine. Despite all their visible concern, You are forced to say you’re fine. When you express your forgone desires, They splash it all around like champagne. …

A poem about feeling suffocated, stuck, and lost in this crowded world — It's crowded here, it’s crowded there, it’s crowded anywhere I try to make my way through. And end up getting nowhere. It’s crowded inside, it’s crowded outside, it’s crowded everywhere. I try to move in my direction but the crowd takes me elsewhere. It’s crowded online, it’s crowded offline, the traffic is fast and dense. Newbies get limited chances in this world rife with pretense.

A poem on the nature of existence — There is always someone who is your first love. There is always someone whose footsteps you follow. There is always someone whose life you impact deeply. There is always someone who is your first, who is your last. There is always an enemy, there is always a friend. There is always someplace you call home. There is always a dream in a young mind. There is always something that keeps you interested.

It speaks in silence, if you’re ready to listen — After a long day, of work at office, and at home. People are indoors, resting, or at leisure. Dogs are quiet. Crickets are silent. No noise from my devices. Finally, the night feels comfortable to talk to me. I listen to the wonders hidden in the silence of the night. It tells me of…

Ruminating over the idea of home from different perspectives — Where is home? An apartment close to workplace. A faraway condo reminiscent of one’s childhood memories. A new flat in a high-rise building bought with one’s partner. What is home? The walls, the roof, the windows and the door. The decor with colors and showpieces adorning the space. The paintings, photos and posters…

The day I had to wait for nearly two hours alone without a smartphone — Inside the parking lot, under a Peepal tree, beside the streetlight, I sit on my scooty. Nearby, the other parked two-wheelers glisten. I amuse myself with what I see around and listen, A stray conversation, some honking in the vicinity. mosquitoes buzzing in my ears with strange affinity. I yearn…