Our Candle

Couldn’t think of a better occasion than the festival of lights itself to recall the blissful emotion portrayed in this poem we wrote a year ago. Wishing you all a happy and blessed Diwali !!

Photo by Hakan Erenler on Pexels.com

Here’s our rendezvous with a candle –

It was a normal night.

Well all nights are normal till,

And Everyone with their laptops

Me with a book in my hand

And suddenly something happened 

Actually, nothing a havoc of surprise around.

The lights went out due to a power cut,

It was somewhere 9 ‘o clock?

All of us staring and trying, setting, mushiness into right.

Even though knowing light would come again alright.

So why not wait for it to arrive?

The encumbered batteries about to drain, 

No one paying  here a sight

Not even the clouds and shudders creeping inside,

And agitation growing, dwindling inside.

Hence, a candle somewhere turned out alright. 

 Some time spent in the dark,

With the single candle being lighted and giving light,

The wax gradually melting 

But till the last moment the candle did thrive.

 And we huddled together to the warmth we found. 

The candle stood there alone and we did.

The gloom and the dark, 

The glow both defied, denied.

We took care that it glowed

Brighter than before,

Till everything went alright.

And the light came ,it sure did.

when the lights went out, we hated it

So, instead waiting for the bulb light to pop on,

We lit one right then in its sheer demise.

To have a candle ‘s light in unusual circumstance

one must take it into strangeness,

when the gloom and darkness prance.

And so did we when frightened by a sheer power cut.

And hence the sooted candle, left a grave mark. 


‘It sure did cry,’

Hello this is Khushi. Today I am penning a poem describing how free soul feels crippled when it is constrained. How it feels the force of being shut down…

Amidst the dread of night,
Seeing their constrained plight
 It sure did cry - freedom

Hands forced to comply,
Tears falling down as it cried
Amidst the dead of night

Compelled to follow norms,
It felt stopped and muted, 
Seeing their constrained plight

As it observed  the caged minds,
From the seamless sky, 
It sure did cry - freedom.

Also penned for prompt at: https://skepticskaddish.com/2022/08/17/w3-prompt-16-weave-written-weekly/ where poets were asked to pen a cascade. This was my first attempt at a cascade poem!



Into the bushes

This poem is penned for the prompt at Skeptic Kaddish where the poets were asked to write a poem following these rules

  • 12 lines of free verse;
  • Must include the adjective “adorable”

The Mulberry Cottage still  stands firm

The gladioli,Lilies and orchids still dance with the wind,

One part of garden looks loftier with tons of leaves some wild begonia, twigs and daisies

 And a silent creature- rests within.

I often wonder would Miss Mackenzie,

Be thinking about her flowers

And the house, her cat Wily and

‘One electric bulb’* would she still ask?

Was she smiling adorably when her body felt,

The ‘grunt’ and the ‘tup’ of that shovel,

And the precious book of wildflowers she gave me

 Would she not give it one more stroll, a caress?

~Kunjal. G

*The poem is inspired by the short story ‘The Prospect of Flowers’ by the eminent author Ruskin Bond.

The Mulberry Cottage is the house of an English spinster Miss Mackenzie. There is nothing extraordinary in her life until she finds a boy plucking flowers in her garden. Together they both come together to study flowers in a book filled with many names of different species. Time flies fast, the boy goes afar and she dies, cold in her bed. I imagined her to be buried within a bed of flowers and the visit of the boy after his vacations…

*One electric bulb I would care to explain. She one time exclaimed to the boy to gift her some electric bulbs for hers always flickered and his father did a business of electric bulbs.



His first rain,
From a little scrawny window,
Droplets pattering and dew forming,
His first thought is a big spit or too much sweat.
His second rain,
Through open gates And-he-could- crawl- cross-fall 
Above those big bouncy raindrops,
Stripped in straps he looks-
At The kids dancing,
He feels his heart sighing and shunning
The remorse- and skipping with the drops falling.

Hello guys this is Kunjal! This poem presents a little contrast about sorrow and happiness. To dance in the first rain or just feel its beat as a kid is a reflective thought.😃.


What is your pro and con for rain?

Also written for the W3 prompt#7


‘ Eyes On Us- A Quadrille’

Eyes on us.

Bars in front, bending down for breath.

One second to look up.

Hands covered with red circles.

Face torchlit with recent smacks.

Eyes gasping down in breaths.

They look up.

But no sight to see,

Travelers fading away-

The lone figure.

Written By- Kunjal Gupta




This is a poem describing a lone injured man on the street. The picture given in the challenge- the eyes stare intensely into us. This prompted me to write a piece which questioned many people together, their willingness to bend down and help someone in need. This is written for sadje


‘But. Before you leave. Help me stand up first

Glistening Eyes


(Exhales in knowledge..

Feisty eyes in search of something

Staring into the distant land. 

In a hope to find few unknown things

Some oddity, uniqueness,courage and-

Melancholic for it couldn’t find

Those rarities nearby

Took lots of effort to leave behind 

That lovely lust, and typical styles

Those eyes still fish their way sometimes, 

Though not visible tis’ desires pushed inside.

Perhaps still yearning to be realized

Those feisty two glistening eyes.

And silently asking to be alive..

This is a poem penned for What do you See? hosted by Sadje.. This poem puts one out of many realizations during times of contemplations.. Most often than not, in attempts of fitting in, we change our outlook towards something, and suppress our yearnings deep within, for a variety of reasons. But the pair of glistening eyes,  asking for recognition and approval, still exist inside…. Exist inside us all.






‘The Game( Ft Duo and Veera)

Hi all!! we two our back this time with our first collab. This is a collab with veera who writes really cool poems!Please check out his post we have linked it to! Cyrnomia is a wonderful delicate sonnet!

Now the game which we will bring about is the game which we all play. Everyday. More often we reflect than not! Some say we are the players in the game. But often we feel like we are being pushed and smacked by imaginary walls like a ball in the arena which is not a good feeling… This will be a dark thrilling poem and may unravel some feelings, which are worked upon by us to be buried.


Each day.




‘ The Game’

It’s a game that shall long be played,

Some fun jabs, and a few laughs.

But our Costumes shall be ruined alas!

Our efforts must not go in vain.


Bull fights, Fisticuffs, slews of curse,

Everything is prone to damage tad.

There is no ambit, only another fad.

Ending up at the correct side works.


There exists but one rule,

Once you enter the bout,

You can ne’er back out,

So beware, feckless fools!


But then again, there exist none

Fool enough to participate,

‘Tis not will, but inevitable fate

which none shall outrun”


So, stop the questions -the mow,

Befuddled moments, always in play,

Find your answers- in quests to gain

Or carry the burden- in brunt of throes.


We’ll need to be, in this maze

Fearless brave and bold,

For await mysteries untold,

Prepare to be amazed!


Mysteries befuddle and choices cost,

Victories and losses arrive in succession,

With momentum arrive abrasions

Carving your face utmost.


So beware, you unfortunate

Forced into a world

Whose secrets, when unfurl

Shall invoke terrible spate.

2)Walking by a seamless river,

Flowing without work

Stones Rolling as we hurl,

Lots of chapters to cover..


The mist of the eerie doom,

The dark clouds of uncertainty,

The perplexity inadvertently

The sadness, the woe the gloom..


A storm brewing upwards,

Cold trembles- a dementor ‘s kiss

Red eyes from the mist,

Eyes amuse at their pieces straggled.


The silent blue on side now loud thudding

Overlapping of opinions

Conflicted contradictions

The calm of thoughts, now flooding.


Floods… the silent blue trets

Jerks around chanting the name,

Name being sanctioned, holy rain!

I need an umbrella from being wet.


I lurk around in a hope to find

Someone something

A reason a calling

To make me stay behind.


But ‘Shhhhhh’, to never accuse,

To remember the rules ‘‘you feckless fools’’,

If my doubts become too difficult to mute..

“carry the burden”- the never ending muse.


3) Trapped in a hellish, tenebrous realm,

Searching tirelessly for an exit,

Ripped apart from within, bit by bit,

By endless suffering overwhelmed.


Wishing, every moment, a painless death,

While knowing ’tis a distant dream

Yet even amidst dark,a weak gleam

Of hope,fuels every miserable breath.


No joy to cherish,

No family or friends to meet,

No love to pursue nor seek,

As I slowly perish.


Unimaginable torture

Plaguing not body-but mind,

Eternal damnation, you find

Is of unbearable nature.


But this one game, this one life

A desire to truly live, Hidden yet there

In this arena, what others do is stare

As you and yourself strife


Challenges many,

Yet desire one,

Satisfaction of wants undone

To find comfort, if any.


This hellish field,

This infernal game,

But silently, untamed,

Munitions you wield..


Armed not of bullets, nor guns,

These attacks of thoughts, and judgement.

Turned into own achievement,

As alone I fight against millions..

‘The end.’



‘Running- a short story’

   hey this is kunjal.

Another attempt to write.

Not sure if it’s good. But would love to chat with you in the comments.🙂   .



. ‘Running’

There once lived a princess in a beautiful palace. The palace towered over the entire town and its red domes teared through the sky reflecting light everywhere but on its own. The palace belonged to the ruling family of Mysore that is the Wodiyars. The eleven year old  princess was never happy unlike everyone who visited or stayed in the palace. She was consumed in an undefinable sadness and gloom, but it was not a mystery to be unraveled for many. No one knew she was unhappy. Her father, her mother told, never wished to have a daughter… And she often felt some lingering disappointment whenever she caught him glancing at her.


She remembered the celebrations of Dasara. The whole town had lit up in joy and happiness. Her father ‘s court was highly entertained. There was an act of magic performed by a father and a son. It was very good and entertaining, and she had even clapped for their performance. The son had winked at her and she had giggled. The son’s father had patted his head and with arms around his shoulder proceeded out of the court with gold coins. She remembered her long stare of envy.


Shades of dismay did come with delight. But they were momentary and when they passed, she was left alone with her self-inflicting thoughts.. Wealth didn’t satisfy her, even if it made her feel pleasant for sometime. She wanted to go out and do things. And the idea of not doing them again brought wings of sadness into her.


There was an intruder though who always took space in her thoughts…. For instance, while she was eating her breakfast, deep in thought and took up her cloth to tap her mouth, there it was. A message sprawled on the cloth.

                           ‘Don’t be sad’

She turned her chair to the curtains which were blowing as the wind was open. Her father raised his brow at her. She started eating, filled with thought.

Again, it happened. While she was in her room, marveling at the thought of the busy markets, while her mother braided her hair, she saw a message on her comb.

               ‘ Don’t think too much’

It happened many times. And at odd places. She always saw the messages and her sad thoughts disappeared the moment she read them. One time she saw a funny message  which said


‘Don’t wish too much’

 She began to suspect that there was an intruder who observed her and became excited at the thought. It somehow felt that those messages kept up fire of hope lit inside herself despite the dreariness of the caged palace.


 But once she was too sad. Grief had overpowered her as it never usually did and threatened tears out of her eyes. She had heard her father and mother shouting at each other. And the subject was she, initiated by her father.


The itching was long. The pain was immense. She felt she could never impress upon her parents. Her mother spoke of business, her dress, her jewelry and princes of which she performed with utmost obedience… Now they wanted her married off to a prince, the subject of their discussion being the richer groom! They never had emotions which attached them to her.

And maybe neither did she..

 Her feet trudged and slipped to the top of the tower and at last she reached the opening of the endless spiral.

The fresh air greeted her and wrapped around her. She felt its strong hold, and she was too weak to gather power..

And she finally did what no room in the chambers of the palace could provide for. She cried… tears rang in the air. She wished for the intruder to show up again… With another message.. Before she even finished her thought, she saw a message in little hand, on the bottom of her handkerchief. It said

                                ‘Don’t jump’

‘But what if I do it?’, she asked herself. Afterall, the messages knew exactly what happened in her mind.


‘But what if I do it?’, she again repeated as she walked forward. Her silken blue gown trudged behind, like water receding from the shore. The little eyes, now dried, peered again at the handkerchief. But she found it completely blank this time. There wasn’t any intruder. There was no wish inside her to see the message again. To correct the wrong thoughts, the wrongdoings,to feel unhappy. Wasn’t it bad to feel weak? Wasn’t what her father always said in his little rhyme to her;

Mental and physical;

Emotional and unbent,

It is strength which keeps you going,

When you feel you can grown no more,

God promised you for growth

For light of the day,

And the dark of the day

The strength is you.


– The little girl ‘s imagination had played with her mind. There was no intruder.. No one who cared to intrude..

And it was completely settled then. She jumped. The silken fabric left the floor.


    The sky grew dark,

              The stars pound to mark’

     The feeble light I remember,

Eyes closed forever..





. Let ‘s chat in the comments. Did you like the short story?

~ Kunjal Gupta


check out the previous post here


‘Who are you?~~’

Who are you? 

Is your name which truly defines you?

Your looks are sufficient to determine character.

Is it your profession that speaks for yourself? 

Dresses and curves are the true factors. 


Is it a lifestyle representing  all pigments of your nature?

Your marks in tests  say who you truly are.

Are Different religions a symbol of your belief?

Your language is a demonstrator of scars.


While we all try to make sense of others

And judge and see what others do

Is it  important to start our journey into ourselves?

In this world only, who are you?

Written By: Khushi M

Hello guys how are your lives treating each one of you. so this poem is full of these ‘?’ marks. But the questions may be rhetorical too😉. Tell us what you think of this poem.

Andd an added question among our teenage readers ( just one last question!)

are anyone of you having exams? Boards, exams, periodics, assessments, whatever you call it, anyone?

See you all in our next post


Check out our previous post here

‘Glory or gory?’

He is successful and desired.
Ignored times -skewed  in  italics,
The gleaming face had once perspired,
Smile behind a mask of wrinkles

And she is successful and pretty.
And she has tons of makeup,
Just hanging over- a thinly veil,
Over Ringed eyes, ugly red circles.

They look awfully suited in this moment
Noting and recording their bare performance,
But there were tons of rehearsals and torment.
And - a Long tunnel-before the opening.

Shadows unhook in the dim of night,
The ballerina leaps and crowds sway,
Postures tried, cut out answers.
Glasses clinch, roars of gay.
Fear, beads of sweat, knee quivers,
They stand and raise the glass of the day,
Teeth shearing cloth while writing,
She is dressed in a gown of pearls.

Habits tried, crumple, restart,
He unconsciously checks the time,
 Nights  black and  dreary,
  They give a calm smile.

A child before the mirror,
Reciting the same verse,
A man before the crowd,
Dictating the same verse.

Moments being sewed together,
 Celebrations and cries of joy,
Cut out hands being put together
To this day of glory and shine.

As you can clearly see, the alterations are between the past and the present. It is a chiaroscuro of past and present! We would leave the meaning upto you!

‘ So what do you guys think about this post!’

More such posts:

  1. Climate Change and We
  2. Family and We
  3. Old Crisis in the Neighbourhood.

Also both of us had created an interesting form to know your guys ‘views about personality tests. Do check it out.