Writers Bloc

Almost all the examinations at Jamia were over. Most of the students had gone back to their hometowns for the summer holidays. Only a few students were left at the university who used to come to the library to study. I too had gone home for a few days but returned early because I had to prepare for a competitive ...

She burnt her shabby hut with her dead father’s freezing corpse inside it, slowly embracing flames. Consumed in the fire and turned into ashes, not just the flesh of the dead and the wooden chips, supporting the old dilapidated structure which was her home for 20 years, but even her very existence was burnt inside today. The last 6 years ...

Dusk had fallen in each one of our lives as a sign for all of us to leave every ray of hope for the next morning. The azure skies dived into the sun-kissed sea, adding a tinge of greyrose to itself, while mellowing doves glided back to their harbours. In the midst of all the mayhem, that eventually sought cosmos, ...

The Cuckoo bird recited a symphony Whilst caravans continuously whistling A new genre called harmonic cacophony Soon I fathomed ’twas Him calling. My flesh and bones stood still Bulks o’er my lashes flexed Straight from a window sill I’d landed to an annex. There, He’s conducting an orchestra And awaiting an audience I lay shackled by His aura As an ...

(Author: I dedicate this poem to all those who were unfairly rusticated from Jamia during the tenure of the earlier vice-chancellor, Najeeb Jung.) He says he wants bread & hostel. Not only that he wants unbiased administration too. on top of that he wants genuine respect too. Rusticate him. He says ” our education is not for sale “. Not ...

Had it been I Would have gone too far Bending all the rules Crossing the seven seas Hiding you in the arms. I, a captive of yours forever remained inside while pumped happily this heart of yours with blood of mine dreams that rested beneath scared, between the bones shivered endlessly, afraid. do you see the stains I carry yes, ...

The ‘public’ element of administration is missing, and the institutions separated and purposely kissing. The blues of the service becomes a fantasy, and the claims of the state becomes an ecstasy. The lives of the people downtrodden and ailing, and canvas of the governance torn while sailing. The onset of empowering questions the power, the civil society seldom enjoys monsoon ...

I don’t know if I’m in love, Just felt butterflies in my stomach. It’s a Saturday night, I’m feeling alright, Thanks for making my life shine so bright. Eyes met, love happened right away, Time flies, but the memories will stay, You’re my life, & I wanna live, With your love, that you always give. Oh my boy, make up ...

And whenever in resounding corridors of time They will speak of dreams and stars, Of whirling dancing snow flakes Divine butterflies on oozing scars Whenever they will dip their brush Deep into thick colors of life, And splash the gray canvas of memories With dripping hues from tinctures so rife Sometime far, when they again will recall the past Feasting ...

It was a dark snowy night, Prancing forlorn under the pale moonlight. Flickered stars into the blue, Just then, the golden sea came into view. Had nothing to say ,not to listen, Was great to see through bright vision. Hidden thoughts were coming out, Want to shout with too much proud. My heart sinks with painful throb, Moving ahead in ...