Golden Palms

Published in the magazine "Off The Coast"

A chance occasion
forged by the golden hands of fate,
by the beating of the millions of hearts,
by the passion enmeshed in millions of souls
of the creatures that thrive upon this planet
Down the silver ribbon that exists
across the peaks and vales of mountains,
Beyond the lapping waves of the cerulean sea,
whose grains of sand embedded in the ocean floor
represent the hopes, the dreams, the aspirations, the ambitions
of the souls bestowed upon the earth
by destiny, to live and leave their respective marks,
and make a change to a world, to a universe,
teeming with imperfections and sorrow
Across the midnight sky, brimming with the sparkles
of stars that exist, miles and miles afar from our hearts,
whose each twinkle, each glister, embodies all that the conscience believes in-
faith, happiness, and the hope for a better morrow
And beyond the horizon, beyond our sight
lie the mysteries yet to be unearthed, to be discovered
by the natural instincts of humankind- to uncover, to excavate
our intrinsic potential, our innate abilities
that coalesce to form a universe of euphony
since we all worked as one,
and strived to bring out the underlying goodness
that remains dormant in the spirit of humanity

Outburst

A minuscule crack in a prism of heat,
snaking along the unyielding gray of stone
One instance of catharsis from millennia of emotion,
insidiously kept under a hood of strength
of uncompromising stone
A crevice that seeks respite from the breeze--
the cool, refreshing squalls that blow
at towering heights, miles above the horizon
Simmering down, like drops of icy water
falling over the flickering flames of a bonfire--
not enough to extinguish, but enough to appease,
an effect similar to the soft, pirouetting breeze

Longing for the chill that abates the heat
kept under a helmet of shining armor,
its fissure widens, letting out sparks of golden
that crackle into the tranquility of solitude
encircling a rising prism of silvered stone
It widens some more, revealing streams of fury
bubbling beneath a countenance of composure,
a terrifying red, deepening steadily--
a slough of sizzling, molten rock
formed after centuries of oppression, of force,
of the unrelenting fingers of mother nature

Arising in rivulets of smoke, fiery clouds
darkening into a funnel that stems from the crevice
that broadens inexorably, breathing heavily
releasing an eternity of emotional suppression,
finally erupting into a flurry of fire,
ridding itself of an existence of a dead silence,
expressing its wrath, billowing in torrents of ferocity,
making history
as the largest volcanic eruption
the earth has ever seen

Pride of the Light

First Published in Poetry Quarterly

An innocent sparkle, of gleaming luminosity
Who glitters feebly, a pinprick source
Of beauty and light
Who bestows upon the earth the treasures
Of guiltless radiance and delicate confidence

Overshadowed by her fiery, powerful brother
She lives at night, when the former goes down
Taking with him illumination and certainty,
Leaving behind the threatening void of darkness
Which she can rarely fill completely
Much to her utter despair

Never appreciated, always hidden
By shrouds of mist, by tendrils of clouds
That serpentine across the tapestry of the sky
Weakening her silvery, passionate efforts
To live up to the golden domination of her brother

She would twinkle against the midnight sky
Until the rays of dawn approached, enervating her soul
Seeping away her fervent energy,
Sapping away her aura of docility, of allure, of enigma
That had been gifted to her by the shining heavens
So that she may provide natural light to the creatures
That dwelled on the earth

So, as the sky grew in its power, her angelic glister
Dissipated into the glimmering dust
Of hopelessness and sorrow
Never to be reclaimed

Nepal, My Pal

Over my 2015 summer, I organized a community book drive to help the victims of the 2015 Nepal earthquake. A friend of mine helped me; we called my initiative 'Nepal, My Pal'. The idea came to me in 10th grade, when I thought of raising money for a cause I hadn't thought of yet. But that cause crystallised after watching the devastating news in April.

We collected 300+ books from people in my apartment complex, and sold them to local book dealers. The proceeds were donated to the Nepal-based NGO, Hamro Sahayog.

I had such a wonderful time doing so, and am glad that my actions have helped those affected in Nepal. For any more information on the initiative, feel free to contact me!

Swills of Illumination

Teetering piles of books, torn, yellowed pages scrawled

with the elaborate artwork of boredom

 in swirls and billows in congested margins

whose content treasures a wealth of knowledge,

amassed by the brightest minds, generously served

to the benighted, in deep saucers

whose ingredients rise above the rim as eddying mist,

striking against the darkness of ignorance

in countless strands

Forcefully compressed into a compact sphere,

meant to be forced, rather than absorbed, 

into the students' mind, seated obediently-
unseeing, drooping with the occasional nod,
weighed down by the cement bricks of pressure,
a lead orb upon their spirits, their abilities,
encouraging the forcing with a vehemently opposing soul,
with the image of golden bouquets delightfully meted out
by anyone but their nonexistent thirst to learn,
whilst seated in their provincial classroom

A glittering sun, an azure sky, swaying blades of grass,
at a safe distance from the crushing claustrophobia
of a tight enclosure of four walls, lines of desks,
insecurities emerging from peers and adults
Once away, away from pain, undue tension,
free to roam, to question, without the terrifying dread
of ridicule hanging about like a pouncing devil,
free to inhale spirals of beauty, in the form
of independence- to be oneself, to question,
to annihilate the shackles of inhibition,
and to simply, greedily imbibe the joys of education
amassed by the brightest minds, generously served

to the benighted, in deep saucers,
where our duty is to swill the scalding contents,
sip cautiously, prior to assimilating it all,
in desirous downpours, as solace from the unending darkness
of ignorance 

Will-o'-the-wisp

(Picture taken from emerald-depths.deviantart.com)

Hovering gently, iridescent, sapphire blue,

mere inches above the stagnant quagmire
courtesy of the torrential rains
that shattered against the parched land,
its magic emanating in glowing strands

Chanting eerily, its melodies hypnotic,
painfully soothing to a wanderer astray,
luring her from her predetermined course
to the skeletal trees, the towering dark,
while it served as her sole, illuminating spark

Drifting softly, gliding in a sinister,
spectral dance, pirouetting over the darkening morass,
twirling as it led the wanderer toward
its abode, sending her mind spinning, lost,
at the hands of the unearthly entity she had crossed

Whispering uncannily, its voice resembling velvet
crooning advice into her ear, in silvery tendrils
of otherworldly wisdom, yet lacking in enlightened words,
taking her pale, shivering hand, it managed to hold
her soul in its, utterly beyond her control

Halting abruptly, a startling standstill, flourishing
its feathery arms of snow-like mist before the wanderer
who, in a daze, let her eyes fall upon the smothering darkness
miles from her home; searching vainly for the glimmering spark,
oblivious to the fact it had melted in the dark

Natives of the Sky

Her saline tears cascaded
in an inexorable, pelting downpour
that fell from the elusive heavens
that lay beyond the darkened skies-
a celestial symbol of her woe
that found meager respite in the cathartic release
that swamped the parched land, the desiccated soil,
the sorrowfully keeling violet blossoms,
ridding the earthlings of the stigma of hopelessness,
of misery, which had rendered them unable
to produce the saltiness of tears
Her grief was their joy, her pain their pleasure,
with their pale countenances facing the gunmetal grey skies,
a crescent of merriment plastered across, eliciting wonder-
as though they had forgotten the precious art of smiling
As she freed her sorrow in sobbing convulsions,
as thunder resonated across the dimming sky,
as her shivering arms lapped against the encircling clouds,
producing heat, shards of blinding, glittering light
that induced cries of merriment from the crowd below
who leaped about in pirouettes,
basking in the welcome interlude
from the sweltering heat, in the form of
the mangled, distraught emotions
of the residents of the heavens,
whose happiness and well-being created drought,
whose sadness created the pleasure of rain,
and whose despairing agony fashioned the devastating
annihilation of a forthcoming flood

Floral Denizens

Published in Inkling Magazine. 

With angles jagged, bits of ceramic protrusions

starkly contrasting with the linoleum floor,

its remnants scattered confusedly about,

mingled with shards of shining glass

that reflect the sunlight as it glares

down, its golden force enough

to unsettle an immovable 

object, for isn't the sun

an irresistible force?

Having settled on

the mantelpiece,

for years on end,

housing the flowers

that had woefully keeled

due to the harsh sun that refused

to reduce the passion with which it burned,

due to the sorry paucity of sustenance, of respite

from stifling days whose ardor never cooled, due to an 

unfathomable weakness that had never existed before, did

the flowers drop from the pride of an incomparable beauty, to

the misery of loneliness, whose only comfort was the lone ceramic

vase whose cracks widened with each elapsing hour, courtesy of the

overwhelming heat, whose ardor never deigned to cool, whose rays

forced grace to stoop to inelegance, which compelled the formerly

vibrant stalks to yellow and crumble, also obliging the once purple

petals to wither, to droop sadly to the side, upsetting the precious, 

the delicate balance of the plants, letting the vase tip one day, 

precariously, to the right, sending it hurtling, streaking to the

linoleum floor, ending in a deafening shatter of ceramic

against the unyielding, beige flooring, then creating

absolute chaos from tranquility, unsightliness

from past beauty, violent pink fragments

from a united piece of ceramic craft,

whose denizens lay dispersed

amid the wreck of skill,

which was provoked

by the glowing sun