I was standing Right behind the door In stark darkness Hiding from the predators Looking at me Like I’m a whore Being a girl Seems like a stigma Monsters living out there Seeking for that chance Somehow some innocent soul Gets entrapped in their plexus Just to fulfill their hunger No matter How her life Would get changed afterwards There is no safe place For her to stay and To live whole heartedly I’m scared of this world Finding a niche Some dark, some quite Just for the survival
Sonika A., from India, is a student of biotechnology. She proved herself in various fields – dancing, choreography and event organizing – during her studies, in her campus. She is here with us to set her emotions out.
I was staring at my books listlessly in the noon, as I thought of a story about a girl and the moon.
Once upon a time, there lived a young, enthusiastic girl, who had charming eyes and lovely brown curls. She was fond of the shape shifting celstial body and would sing lullabies about its beauty daily. At nights, she would wait near the wooden door, hoping that one night it will land on the porch. She imagined riding it to the chilly North Pole, thinking about it somehow calmed her soul. She would often address it as “My Dear Moon” and for the humanity, she considered it to be a boon. “Come down to the earth, come play with me, come pay me a visit, come down to me”. She watched it change its shape every night and everytime she would be pleased with its sight.
A few years passed and the girl grew older Her hopes for the Moon’s visit became fainter. One night, when she wasn’t waiting anymore She heard a soft knock on the wooden door. The beloved Moon had come down to the earth, to visit the girl who appreciated the reflector’s worth. “Dear Moon?”, whispered the admirer doubtfully as the beloved Moon stood on the porch silently.
As I watched the girl walk towards the door Something started pulling me down on the floor, As I fell towards the floor and kept falling continuously I heard some footsteps and then a door creaked slowly I continued falling down when someone shook my shoulder “Oh dear! You’re sleeping again”, said my mother “Dreaming and exploring, Mother”, I said to her, as I thought about the fate of the Moon and its admirer.
Sheebah is a student of class XI whose hobby is to write poetry.