Zoi's Window

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Fall

James felt rather than saw Mike catch up to him. He moved to the right of the bike path so the two friends could cycle side-by-side without much problem. “What’s on your mind?” James sighed. He did not have to turn to Mike to know the latter was looking at him with those intuitive sharp blue eyes. James knew the expression all too well – Mike’s eyes would be narrowed; there would be a small furrow between his brows. If it were anyone else, James would probably be afraid of their bike swerving off-road, but not Mike’s. Mike could drive from his room to the campus with his eyes closed and no accident. That was just who Mike was. Making something up did not even cross James’s mind. He knew Mike could read him as well as he could read Mike, perhaps even better. Any lie would immediately be called out. Plus, he did not have the energy. “Death never looked more beautiful,” James replied, nodding to the trees that lined the opposite bike path, their leaves in different shades of yello...

The Clothes on the Bedroom Floor

Clothes litter the bedroom floor, Memories of a lover's heart ripped and thrown, Fading like the will to knock on the door And pick up the pieces that have now been outgrown. The blue sweater truly suited you - White stripes from a country not my own... It saw the sun rise over a ballsy victory or two Before sinking to the floor, heavier than stone. On the same stained floor lie clothes of the night, Once shared with love amongst you and I Till you lost your drive and all strength to fight While I abandoned the energy to cry. The cargo pants were his to rock, Dotted with pockets to carry his smile... Now it lies lopsided, contorted like a keyless lock, Only to be stepped on with scorn every once in a while. And there - a friend's jade jerkin, a union's sign, Both still thriving and alive, Though now I can call neither of them mine - Too tired to buzz with the busy bees of the hive. That black jacket was a gift from the dead To provide an illusion of warmth in a land of sn...

It's Time

The gown lies torn on the bedroom floor; A suit's been stolen from the guarded armory. So pay the scribes their due and send them off - It's time to write the story of your life With the words of your own choice. The staircase built to reach the high heavens And the dungeons of hell were one and the same. Now the foundations lie cracked and shattered - It's time for the truth to come out And right the wrongs assigned at birth. The bell has been rung; the was has begun. Slay the dragon while the iron's hot. Open the gallows for a new king has come - It's time for the "damsel" to shed "her" shackled disguise. Step forth, brave knight, into the shining light. The pink sun rises on a brand new day; The sky is a brilliant blazing blue. White mountain peaks smile in the distance - It's time to hoist your flag up high And claim your true identity with pride.

Mialka's Doll

Mialka was a sweet little girl, hardly five years of age, who lived with her father and elder brother in a little cottage at the end of the path which ran through the woods. Surrounding this little cottage made of the cheapest timber there were no other signs of civilisation for miles. The closest village was on the other side of the woods and walking to it took almost a day. As a result, Mialka had grown up almost completely cut-off from civilisation. Behind her father’s cottage was a small patch of fertile land where the family grew grains and vegetables. The harvest was never enough to sell, but almost always enough to feed the three mouths. The family’s only source of income was the wild berries the men of the house plucked from the woods and sold in the marketplace every fortnight. A tiny portion of this meagre earning was given to Mialka and Dolohaev, Mialka’s elder brother who was in his late teens. With their allowance the children were free to do whatever they wished – D...

Invisible

The legal form has two options Neither of which feels like you. So you look back to what you were told, And select the lie that will pass for the truth, Finishing off with a signature not your own. There are two washrooms wherever you go - One for suits, the other for frocks. One feels wrong; the other doesn't feel right, But that's only because you didn't know You were allowed to feel wrong there too. The papers talk about "gender discrimination"; They go on and on about one. You wait for yours to break the monologue, But that epiphany never comes. And you wonder if you're the one who's wrong. The clothes you wear come from the wrong section of the store. They fit your form, but they don't fit you. Yet they're all that the passers-by see As you walk down the streets Invisible to your own country. But don't let that stop you From being the 'you' you truly are. Here's from one enby to another: You are real; you are valid. You may be ...

The Monster and its Mother

This is the tale of a wise woman Who knew not where her limits lay, Yet sorely wished to do the world good (Or maybe just stuff her pockets full), But ended up as the biggest fool, Inviting doom with open arms. She decided she would "save" the others From a great beast that roamed the woods. Did she know said beast didn't care Of humans and their petty squabbles? Of course, she did! She was wise after all. Yet she decided she wouldn't risk it; She would protect her friends from the evil beast Which was already kept out by ancient laws. And so she did - she mocked the beast and taunted it, Breaking laws that might have never bent, All to protect those who might have never been harmed. She tried to get the beast to rage At those it didn't want to unleash its fury on. "Why?" you ask. I'll tell you why. What if the beast runs amok? Was what the fool had thought, What if it attacks out of the blue? Who will protect humanity then? It shall be me , she dec...

Adventures of the Ten - Television and the Scare

It wasn't often that the ten boys got a chance to sit down and relax in each other's presence. After all, matches didn't win themselves. All the same, time and again, things happened that brought all the teenagers to the same room with no intention of destruction whatsoever. This time, it was Varun's sprained ankle. Said ankle had been sprained in an unfortunate incident which involved Varun toppling down a few stairs, and then a few more, owing to the weight of his bag. Centre of gravity and momentum too had a role to play, but nobody was inclined to give that a thought. Fortunately, nothing had been broken. The doctor had advised him to rest his ankle for a few weeks. His friends had insisted they would keep him company during that prolonged time period because that was what good friends did. And so, Saturday afternoon found all ten boys lounging in Varun’s living room while the young master asked Harshit, “Dude, what would you like to watch?” Harshit’s presence w...

Adventures of The Ten - The Dead

It was an endeavour destined to end in failure, Shirsho decided, as the ball fell inches away from its target. Judiciously ignoring the snickers of his friends, he jogged towards the ball which was bouncing away. He would have reached it too, had Varun not decided to give an ear-piercing shriek. As it was, Varun did decide to scream, resulting in Shirsho falling facedown, and the ball rolling away. “What was that for?” he asked angrily, getting up and rubbing his sore nose. His eyes met Varun’s which were brimming with fear. Everything had gone horribly wrong even before it started. It was supposed to be a simple basketball match, not a matter of life-or-death, though Abhinav, Shirsho, Gourav and Harshit would disagree. All the same, no one was supposed to die, for heaven’s sake! The ten boys gathered around the fallen body. Varun and Aditya looked scared and upset respectively. Tarun and Aarush looked like they were trying very hard to keep the contents of their stomach within. ...

Hiraeth

Hiraeth, you call me home To a distant land beyond the shore, A place where I belong. Hiraeth, you call me home. Everyday I wake up in a stranger's bed; Familiar sights never stop being foreign. My surroundings seem distant, veiled by mist. Hiraeth, you call me home. You tell me of a land where the sun shines right; The grasses are green, the water a dazzling blue. The birds sing a song even I understand. Hiraeth, you call me home. I'll set sail for your golden sands, Follow the pull on my heart. Maybe one day I'll make it there... Hiraeth, you call me home. The nearer I am, the softer your voice, Till I feel nothing but a whisper. Your soft music hums through my bones. Hiraeth, I call you 'home'.

Memories of 2020

Remember that ride to school When a spider fell on you? You screamed so loud I slipped off the seat. But you don't 'Cause that's a memory we never made. Remember that day we got late Hence I was running up the stairs? Suddenly I tripped, And brought you down with me. But you don't 'Cause that's a memory we never made. Remember when you forgot your breakfast So we had to share mine? We sat 'neath the trees outside, And he saw you for the first time. But you don't 'Cause that's a memory we never made. Remember that time you didn't do your homework And he let you copy his? He called it your first date. You were so happy. But you don't 'Cause that's a memory you never made. Remember when I discovered That that quiet girl had the same interests as me? We'd spend our breaks in the library Discussing everything. But you don't 'Cause that's a memory I never made. Remember the tears we shed During our farewell party? We exc...

The Lass

Past the footprints on the muddy track If you walk through the grazing grass, Find you will a knife stained and black With old blood from a young lass. Follow the drops and you shall see Flattened grass where the dull spots end, A young lass with tears running free To form a river just 'round the bend. Born from a puddle of red despair, Flowing through a barren way To the sea and from there the air, Resting in the gathering clouds of the ending day. All the lass had ever needed was a shoulder; Now her own tears rain down to wash away sorrow, For no kind voice ever told her Of the light that shone in the morrow. Her tears stay to water the tired, Her blood forever staining the silent ground; The Earth shall rise to claim the wired, Only then will start the sound Of what made the lass the knife to yield? However did she drown in despair? Why did she keep her secrets sealed As she sought to destroy all beyond repair? Perhaps she'll hear from the starry sky The apologies and condol...

Why?

Why walk a path every feet has trodden? What joy there lies to forge ahead If no new marks can be left? Why stumble forth breathless Packed in a blind crowd When a novel way can be charted Out of the maze? Why stay on land when seas can be braved? What good can come from toiling Like every other slave? Why witness the same sunset Clouded by the smoke of burnt dreams From a pier on which no more feet can stand When a rising sun waits to be seen? Why fear to fail when every man must die And none has lived forever with their head held high? If to fall is must, why fall again Where every man has fallen in their time? Why not trip on a new road Only to stumble upon a truth unknown before? If there is a dream that dares to call, Answer with a will that dares to believe. Lose everything that can be lost; Give everything that can be given, and more. For who knows if that dream will ever call again? If that path will ever be brought to t...