By Neeti Adhia
For some, change occurs within the span of a single pandemic. Read this letter about advice given to one’s past-self through time.
Read MoreWhere Currents Meet
By Neeti Adhia
For some, change occurs within the span of a single pandemic. Read this letter about advice given to one’s past-self through time.
Read MoreBy Aastha Katyal Panth
Endings of stories and years bring with them a sense of closure. But when you’re the writer and the protagonist: do you get closure?
Read MoreBy Ekasmayi Naresh
A vivid image and fantasy-filled landscape are presented by this poem about the mysteries of all that lies behind a door.
Read MoreBy Krishna Advani
The following poem is on the deceptively rosy picture that the past often appears as in the metaphorical ‘rearview mirror’, seeming to be far brighter than the colours of the present.
CAUTION: Objects seem brighter than they appear.
We find ourselves at the same place every year. We set ourselves up for daunting tasks, but this reminds us to be proud for trying.
Read MoreBy Bhagyashree Phadnis
“Art never dies, it’s eternal and is
accessible irrespective of time, place and language.” Read a musing about music that transported the author despite being confined during the lockdown.
By Neeti Adhia
The discussion of time travel is almost impossible without the ‘Grandfather paradox’ being brought up. Read this article to know more!
Read MoreBy Shivani Chunekar
“There is nothing more comforting than realizing, time and again, that we all ask the same questions.” Read about the familiarity of darkness and the habitual stillness of life in a pandemic.
Read MoreBy Haritha Sara Kuriakose
Being in the present means being a work in progress. This poem describes the mindfulness of truly revelling in the here and now.
Read MoreBy Aalia Jagwani
The word ‘revolution’ redefined to fit a new understanding of it. To go beyond what the dictionary says it to be, to create your own meaning.
Read MoreA poem about the spectrum of living, growing, and thriving – all through life, through time in multicolour as colours turn to metaphors.
Read MoreHe has been sculpted like a painter and painted like a sculptor. All the poetry is for him, for the dead Maple leaf, the thousand stanzas that a poet creates is just for him, the innumerable colors of life, of celebration, of sacrifice, that a painter’s brush creates, is for him. It is for the withered, surrendered, dead Maple leaf.
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