Fate | Twenty Eight

their innocent hands,
built castles of sand,
they shared happiness,
secretly amongst themselves.
They were more than friends,
happier together, sad apart.
they knew they were children,
but their love was innocent.

she was sixteen now,
beautiful,shy and ambitious.
he was seventeen,
handsome, bold and cautious.
they knew eachother,
but only by names now,.
that childhood affection,
seemed forever gone somehow

he ignored her,
pretended as if she didn’t exist,
she knew he did it on purpose,
so she faded like the silent mist.

she cut her 20th cake,
he bought his new bike,
both were independent ,
but it wasn’t what their fate liked.

seasons changed,
snow covered the trees,
he shifted to a hostel,
and it was where she paid her fees.

they newly introduced each other,
childhood memories flushed her skin,
she became blood red,
he held her by her chin.

time went by,
healed her forgotten scars,
she was happier than ever,
most loved in his arms.

he looked in her eyes,
felt loved and cared,
he knew it was her,
his heart filled with fear.

she was shocked,
he was on his knees,.
promising her side,
in sickness and in health,
through poverty and wealth.

her arms were cold,
her heart rate raced,
she knew it was a journey of infinite miles,
when she agreed to walk down the aisle.
♥

– Sakshi Mhatre,16

The Harbinger | Twenty Seven

This story is not the usual kinds, it’s the unspoken truth about humanity and if you as a reader choose to fixate your life around a made up fairy tale, Do Not Read Further.

As I make myself comfortable in my seat and type down this story, I’d like to remind the reader that my religion has nothing to do with this story. I don’t believe in one. Yet, just to clear biases, I was born a Hindu. I write this story as a middle man, meaning no offence to both the sides.

Mohammad Asif Siddiqui, 27 years old was born in Kabul and had settled in New York. He was a brown skinned Muslim, a son of Allah and was living among the whites beneath the skyscrapers of USA. Like every other morning, Asif woke up to another day in NYC, read his ‘namaz’ and left for the garage where he worked. At midday, he went to a small coffee shop to get his sandwich and coffee. As usual, the drink was extra dark and the mayonnaise, very less. The reason – his origin. He went back to work till dusk and returned home. On his front porch that he walked past every day, the sight of the word ‘filthy’ couldn’t escape his ears, It was sprayed by the kids on the street; another punishment for being a Muslim. As hewent to the bed, he picked up the frame near his lamp and smiled as he saw the exhilarated faces of hiswife and son and the times they were together in Kabul where one day, he had returned from work to the debris of his home and the corpses of his family. Their neighborhood had been bombed by his very present neighbors – the Americans. This was not the first time that he had had this remorseful flashback, but he knew there was nothing he could do. His family was buried and so were their memories together. He had lived in NYC ever since and life was fine, until the World Trade Complex came down in 2001. After that, he had lived like a prisoner at home. It was 2010 now and the prisoner hadn’t escaped his cell.

The next morning, even the solace of a routined life was snatched away from Asif as he was laid off. Much to his begging for the cause of this punishment,it remained unknown. As he was heading out, his ears caught on to the word ‘threat’. At daybreak, he went to read his ‘namaz’ and as he knelt facing Mecca a gang of boys threw a ball at him and taunted him with the word – ‘Paki’. This is when it all changed; Asif quickly picked up the ball and stared at the boys with bloodshot eyes. The boys sensed the aura of danger that was enveloping him and scurried away. Asif went home with distress in his heart,the faces of his family added salt to his wounds and at this point a new Asif was born. All that was left in his heart was vengeance. His eyes turned bloodshot and his mind wild. His body asked for revenge and his mind agreed. For the sake of Fatima and Kadin, for the cap on his head, for his brothers who were no more, for his blood and oil and for his faith in Allah. Asif was now a rebel – a terrorist.

Every verse in the Quran, which once always meant love and peace, now spelled revenge. The word ‘Jihad’ which once meant freedom, now spelled murder. Asif not only had started viewing his Quran differently, but also the very country that gave him solace. His judgement had become clouded with vengeance. On the 10th of January, Kadin’s birthday, Asif stood on the Times Square intersection at Midtown Manhattan and pressed a button. He was now the harbinger of death. Much to his Allah’s disappointment, his soul was now stained with the blood of thirteen innocent individuals. They too were dragged to be part of this bloody war. Soon their children, would evolve to be the very coffee shop and garage owners that would give birth too many more Asifs. The cycle would continue.

I wrote this story to remind the readers that terrorists are not born out of religion but are born out of hate. If you choose to be biased about a person on the basis of his colour, his religion or his name, you are also a terrorist. Don’t be distant to another individual. We are all the same. “Imagine all the people living life in peace. You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us, and the world will be as one.”- John Lennon

– Armaan Nayar , 18

Spent | Twenty Six

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I’m so spent on everything. Those days when you feel like you’re just split into a million pieces and thrown into various things all at once. It’s exhausting, I won’t lie but its challenging and I guess without challenges life really ins’t anything worth feeling proud of.

Words | Twenty Five

The pen is mightier than the sword – a line I swear by and believe in immensely. Words can hurt you, make you smile, make you feel emotions that you might not feel by actions otherwise and so they become agents of change. Words become your tools, your weapons. For me, my words are all I am; they are all I can ever be. They are me.

Fallen | Twenty Four

And she dreams about him again

The one who could weave all her pain,

As soon as she opens her eyes

She remembers all the broken lies.

How can she want him after what he did?

Maybe thats the beauty of the love that lies within.

She sees him staring at this girl he is now into

Thinking maybe he’ll too feel what she went through.

All the walls she built came crumbling down

When he swore that he’d always be around.

And the same walls were soon build too high

The day she found loves never fair.

She has now somehow learnt to live,

With a broken heart and empty promises.

He taught her how it felt in love

And soon taught her how it felt to be betrayed in love.

She now closes her eyes

To be in a world where everything seemed right

A place where he was by her side

A place where she could hold him tight.

A place where her nightmares  burnt bright.

She loved him and he did too;

But the only difference was,

it just wasn’t true.

   – Anshika Kasana,17