When I walk down the lane, I often sense the pain, That I tried a lot to save, But all in vain.
When I walk down the lane, A thought hits my brain, Those bats of twenty-two yards, Are no more in the game.
When I walk down the lane, I see the lake, its the same Where the painting made of dove, Turned into the feeling of love.
When I walk down the lane, I feel the emotions turning plain, When the tears roll when I cry, She fondles my face with love, And waits for the tears to dry.
When I walk down the lane, I see the memories drain, With the time sadly passing by, I just wait for the lady to call, We are ready to fly.
I won’t walk down this time, Because it’s time for me to fly high, Bidding my gracious childhood, A final goodbye!
Saanya Sodhi is a young writer, based out of New Delhi. Saanya uses free style poetry to give form to her feelings, thoughts and opinions. Love is one of her favourite feelings to give shape to through her writings. She wishes to grow more with each passing day as a writer. She goes by the pen name Spero and also uses the hashtag #speŕowrites🌼, to display her writings.
That Night
By Saanya Sondhi
At 5 in no time, I scroll through all my content apps, I scroll through my social media
I see how songs from another age make my friends feel warm I however lay here, in this infinite cold just scrolling.
I have so much content, content to go through, so many words to learn and study through But all I want at this brink of dawn is to talk to you
Talk about how the universe was made, how the matter that’s light is not even one-fourth of this universe And how we’re just a tiny speck, a nothing in that something.
How I’m something everywhere, but how I’m not everything How my memories juxtapose at this time of the twenty four hours
I want to talk to you about the marvels of the universe and the marvel cinematic universe, I want to talk of everything I know and listen to everything you have to say.
I want tell you about my fascinating horror of numbers I want to tell you about my love letters, the ones I wrote to space.
I want to hear about your life and about your last love, I can talk hours about love only if you’d like to listen….
I’ve written speeches on ambition, on dreams that are yet to take form, I could tell you about how I’ve adored and waited for the stars when everyone I knew was busy clicking the sun lit sky.
Just like I waited for them I’ll even wait for you, For that night to come one day when we’d talk about life, analyse Beauvoir’s works, appreciate Marsha’s existence
When we’d, undress each other’s scars and listen to our heartbeats and to our hidden muffled screams. For that day when the galaxy will shine and the universe will align
I’ll wait for that night, for you to realise …..
Good With Words
By Saanya Sondhi
Good with words, People say I’m good with words How my words are raw and how I am great at putting alphabets in lines that make sense.
I’m still scared to go deeper with my cuts, more than I am scared to go deeper with my words I think it’s a good thing, maybe for the world it is.
The colour red pacifies me when the ques of alphabets don’t Maybe if I was gone, maybe then someone would see me.
I’m screaming for help But the buds of their own life are between me and them, Why am I too poor for them?
There’s a voice screaming in my head, Laying, saying maybe I’m not worth it, pictures showing maybe I’m not.
My conscious knows I believe in case studies, my mind making me my own. I am my own victim, I am the universe’s victim. But I can’t say it out loud.
Knowing that I don’t have happiness is so much easier to accept, than knowing that I’m meant to give is so much beautiful than what it truly is.
Tears have put me to sleep more than sleep when it came to lie with me, Screams have tired me more than fatigue, when I saw starvation as a pretty look on me.
The voices that become miserable sounds in my head tell me that I am my own victim. Those sounds overlap to become cries of help to no one listening.
I often wonder what can be more important than me on the verge of dying for them. I often wonder where they are when I’m closer to the knife than I am to my bed on which I’m lying.
There’s not miles but even more of skin that I can see is wrong. There’s this figure in the mirror that I can see is not worth it.
As I tip-tap my fingers on my screen my cheeks become wet, as I pull down my panel to see my hopes fade away.
I shouldn’t, I know, I shouldn’t be angry, but when I see them crying over a broken heart I want to show my soul to them. I want to show how no adherent could fix the cracks the shreds of black.
I’m closer to death than I’ve ever been to life.
Young Love and The Rain
By Saanya Sodhi
Young love makes me as happy as the feeling of my cotton dress on my legs, flying in the direction of the wind, going with the wind
I recently learned what a pluviophile is, euphoria took over me as I found another word synonymous with my name
The petrichor makes me feel at home even when I’m not, the wetness of the rain replaced tears on my cheeks
I feel happy in the rain, imagining and re-imagining scenes from movies that happened and from my life that never did
I see a lot of young love around me today, I’m at that age when the little girl that was always scared of the rain thought she would live through young love
But all I live is see and the only way I live, vicariously
I was once scared of the rain, I thought it would flood our homes, that was before emotions flooded my heart and numbness my body
I thought our house would break under the pressure of water but that was before the pressures of love and life scared me much more
I used to think after the rain only wooden boats could save us, the boats of hope have proven otherwise
The me then wanted to live to see love, the me today wants to live for the same
Just that then I was a girl who was in love with love, no complexities, no questions
And today I am the girl who wants to understand all about Aphrodite, Apollo and Inanna
I am heart broken and a boy didn’t break my heart.
Anoushka Radhakrishnan has been writing ever since she was ten years old and presently performs at various Slam Poetry events in New Delhi. She writes about feminism and mental health. She would love to publish her own book one day !
The Difference Between A Compliment And A Catcall
By Anoushka Radhakrishnan
I don’t wear dresses anymore. I don’t wear dresses because dresses have consequences. I’m fifteen and I’m walking on the sidewalk next to my school, I am wearing my school uniform You’re twenty eight and driving a bike I wonder what you think before you cat call.
Do you think I’m a cos player? Pretending to be underage? Or do you think this is a porno? Do you think I am walking in front of you deliberately? Hoping you’ll notice my undefined body?
‘He’s just offering a compliment, learn to accept it.’ A compliment? A compliment is ‘Hi, you look nice.’ ‘You’re such a kind person’ ‘I really like your smile.’ not ‘Hey, sexy! Wanna come with me?’ Haha, get the joke? because clearly, he did too.
It’s a compliment? Is that what your mom told you when you were catcalled? Is that what her mom told her when she was catcalled? That it is just somebody appreciating your femininity, no. He does not appreciate your beauty and he doesn’t see you as a woman but as a toy. a mannequin. a doll.
You are not a doll, You are a human being. You were born in this world to live Not to feel uncomfortable by someone else’s doings and then be told you are not uncomfortable, a compliment does not make you feel uncomfortable, a catcall does. It wasn’t a compliment then and it isn’t a compliment now.
I’m fifteen. I want to go home happy and content. I want to go to a party happy and content. I want to be happy and content. A compliment makes you feel happy and content a catcall makes you feel disgusted and dirty and unsafe and not human.
I am fifteen and I am wearing my school uniform, and I do not appreciate you raking your eyes up and down my body like it is a joyride, a carnival. no, my body is not a roller-coaster, my body is not candy, my body is not yours to enjoy.
I’m fifteen, I’m twenty, I’m thirty, I’m forty, and I know the difference between a compliment and a catcall because I know the difference between a person who respects me and a person who wants to drug me.
I know the difference between a compliment and a catcall like I know the difference between my home and that god damn sidewalk. I know the difference between a compliment and a catcall because I know the difference between feeling good and feeling dirty.
I know the difference between a compliment and a catcall just like I know the difference between consented sex and rape. I know the difference between a compliment and a catcall because there’s only one that considers my consent.
I know the difference between a compliment and a catcall because both flatter me yet there’s only one I want to accept.
" Young Writers' Collective" 