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When my grandmother was first diagnosed with cancer, her immediate response was to turn to Paath [1] (a form of prayer in Sikhism) . Having raised two kids on her own and enduring social isolation as a result of doing so, a practical and logical woman chose spirituality and faith during an unexpected difficult period. To quote Ralph W. Hood Jr. & Peter C. Hill, prayer at its core is defined as “communication addressed to God” [2] . This communication has its own varying ty

On a monsoon morning, around 10:30 AM, I heard the gentle pitter patter of the rain hitting against the surface of the car, I peered out the window, A woman in a sari with white flowers in her hair, looked towards her left before crossing the road, The man with white hair sat at the bus stop on his phone, And the young boy sat right next to him, The auto with ‘Om’ written on the yellow hood, An orange, red and green bus parked in random sequence, A fruit-seller ridin

Kodoku lived a simple life - the type to be forgotten. He was a typical man who worked a 9-5 job as an accountant, fiddling with numbers all day. An introvert. It had always been this way, since his days at school. The quiet kid who didn’t talk unless he had a question, there was nothing special about him. In a world full of ordinary people, he would be right in the middle - not too ordinary and not too little ordinary, just ordinary. He didn’t have very many friends either,

when i was around the age of 13, covid had just hit. i spent all night chatting with pre-pubescent, and rude boys and hosting zoom calls to speak to my friends. when my mom was 13, she witnessed the death of her dad. during grade 10, i spent my entire year drowning in books. i ate what and when i wanted, i slept where and when i wanted - no distractions, all focus. at the same time, a generation apart, my grandmother was cutting pencils in half so that my mom would have twic

i breathe in this suffocation, and with it, i yearn for more, the air in this house is suffocated, it is reused but not reborn, like a middle aged man, this air is tired of being around for so long the air in this house is exhausted, this water is still and untouched, i am this air: in its stillness, i dissolve, with it, I reek of dread i reek of exhaustion i reek of monotony; beige and tired, the air in this house is exhausted.

i live in the city of polluted waters, in the age of recklessness, underage drinking and glamorized destruction, unforeseen...

Currently, it's summer. One of the hottest seen by Delhi NCR. I found an old piece I wrote and thought to share ... Why do we continue to neglect our planet? To turn a blind eye towards the damage we have done? Why do we continue to listen to those who make excuses to do nothing? Why are we so caught up in our own doings to do something? Our planet is dying. You can ignore it but the thing about truth is that it can be denied but not avoided. Remember the amazon rainforest?

this app in my phone is like no other, it’s a notebook, endless with stories incomplete with aggressively typed grocery lists, reminders,...

the day before it’s over, a small pocket of comfortable, numb silence, a pocket no thought can reach, a pocket where every voiced is hushed, a small library, but there are no books, no stories, there’s silence, and that’s enough, death is a day away, tomorrow, no longer will it be so loud, tomorrow, this library of comfort will engulf us all, tomorrow, there will be no more war, no more people, tomorrow, there will be no more politics and no more anger, no longer hav

purple is the rain at dawn after a long day, it’s the quiet but overwhelmingly present piano notes echoing through the room, spontaneous accidentals, the indifference, the odd purple is ancient royalty, it’s the blooming flowers on a sunday morning in the field of nothingness, the subtle eye contact, a mac demarco song, it’s the scars on the perfect porcelain paper skin, the innocent touch - manipulative, purple are the fresh haircuts and the blurry smiles, the box ruste

one deep breath in, fall. slow exhale, my heart expanding throughout my body, vibrations that shake my core, my heart grows bigger,...

Rape is a crime that India is overly familiar with. These cases have become so common that we often see ourselves overlooking them, forgetting the heinous nature of the crime. The reason for this is the unavoidable numbness is caused by the high frequency of such cases. When we hear about a heinous crime, most of us go into state of shock, hearing about such cases for the first time impacts us more heavily but when we repeatedly hear about such cases, this feeling of shock no

Monday: 1 worksheet on quadratic sequences, 1 task, simple enough, I can do it tomorrow, I stare into the gleaming screen of my phone, It memorizes me with a glimpse of strain in a specific spot in my eye, I stare unfazed, As my mind goes blank, forgetting all to be done and all at steak. It started with on task, A singular worksheet with 10 questions, Suddenly, It’s Wednesday, Tuesday: Missing, Nobody seemed to care, Life went on, Wednesday: 1 worksheet on quadratic sequence

anger is scary, it takes you over like a wave, evil, It disguises, the unknown is scary, the first time, you can shake it off, forget about it, you're okay, the second time, you slam the door, turn to the blade, then you feel okay, the third time is when it really starts to hit, it drowns you, takes you down - like a wave and then suddenly, you can’t swallow, there’s a lump in your throat, then you suffocate within, just like your lungs underwater, your brain, explodes, your

on december 11 2022, my vocal teacher, ms. shazia aching informed me about an upcoming concert and told me about how she wanted me to sing in it. i was absolutely thrilled because i had wanted to perform for a while. <--- the invite for the show Mistletoe by Justin Bieber- https://youtu.be/MhLWQHoRQN4 Back to Black by Amy Winehouse- https://youtu.be/dggYpqZK5tE

i was walking around my society when i came across an ongoing karate class, i noticed two underprivileged children staring at the same which inspired me to write this poem. ________________________________________________________________________________ “thump, thump” with each kick, the target made of soft cushioning stayed stable, the children, young, around 5, kicked with all their might, like a rock, standing still, even after the ruthless backlash, of the raging ocean, i

I wrote this poem around 2am when I was really missing my friends back in Dubai. ________________________________________________________...

“Stem cell therapy has been one of the most promising treatments for Alzheimer's disease patients.” - National Library of Medicine. The...

Special thanks to Ms. Lekha (my English teacher) for helping myself and Archit write this poem. Siddhi: Stereotypes, equality, genders -...

March 24th 2019: 11:00 AM It was a Sunday. Sunny. The sky was clear, the atmosphere was busy, the bustling sounds of people filled the...