Butterfly Effect

A single swoop, a flutter of a delicate
wing. cascades
of breeze flitting to the other side of the garden,
taunting a rose's petal. confusing swirls
hitting the glass of a window, the rest rising
up to the clouds. giving the static marshmallows

a little nudge, rising into a push, sending
them swimming over the heads of
humanity. while a butterfly hovers
innocently, its glass-like wings reflecting
the sweet sunlight of an approaching
storm.

clouds turn black from a pearly hue, sinking
towards the choppy terrain. grumbling,
compelling the air to spin up a
darkening storm. currents of air, so fragile,
so obedient, spiralling--a whirlpool
of tormented breeze.

power manifested in threads of air
turned wicked, charting a path of carnage.
which stemmed from the guiltless, unassuming
flutter of a creature's wing, culminating
in a fiery storm. the butterfly
effect.

Moonbow

An arch glinting

moonlight, ghostly. Hidden hues 

of the night, concealed under

layers of darkness. a waterfall of

moonshine, colors begin to emerge

from the spectral design. silvery

residue splashing on the ground, horizons

comprised of crystals. a downpour 

of jewels, serpentining across the

midnight sky. beyond the soft swishing

whispers, to find hope at its end, hope

at a starless time. a dance against the

ebony shades of fear, against the obsidian

crevices of misery, to the cascade of color

on a dead night.

Moonbow. 

(Image credit: https://bluenred.com/2010/08/28/whats-good-moonbows/)

Postcards for Peace

by Richa Gupta

Postcards for Peace is a non-profit organisation that aims to spread the values of peace, tolerance, and love—by making and selling postcards. All the money raised from the sale of postcards goes into funding their initiatives for children and youngsters across the globe. 

I plan to become a Goodwill Ambassador with them soon, once my schedule permits it. But until then, I hope to raise awareness about the wonderful ventures this organization is undertaking, and to spread the word about their mission statement. 

Here are a few of their inspiring initiatives:

Postcard Exchange Network: http://www.postcardsforpeace.org/schools/postcard-exchange-network/

Design Competition 2016: http://www.postcardsforpeace.org/schools/postcard-design-competition-for-children-2016/

#SelfiesforPeace: http://www.postcardsforpeace.org/about/selfiesforpeace/

I invite you to take part in the Design Competition: for it's a wonderful chance to conflate the powers of creativity and social change. 

Pyrrhic

Land, fragments of stone to lord
over, decaying vegetation, collapsing petals.
People genuflecting with shock,

under the rule of new skins, people with
a foreign accent, strange syllables melting on
their tongues. more torn hearts for them

to rule, more lost souls of their own to mourn.
more territory on the world map, but more
spirits of death rising into the blood-stained

air. more monuments, temples ripped to shreds;
more houses, closets with faded remnants of
family gatherings and dinners, lying huddled

in a puddle of loss. more power in the eyes of
the world, but more tears back at home, bereaved
tears from little girls with pigtails and boys who

used to play with wooden, toy cars. who now roam
the city for pennies and respect, who put themselves
to bed when the radio static muffles, courtesy of

a waiting mother who wants her children to sleep.
more cascaded towers to stomp past--rooms which
housed tangled slivers of joy, radiant sparkles of

hope which fell as the layers of cement did. which
disappeared faster than the last flicker of life.
power as motivation, emotions concealed at the

rear, it was never worth it. power at the expense of
beautiful, glimmering life. war to gain, everything
to lose. Pyrrhic.

Indians 4 Social Change

Over 2015 and a bit of 2016, I had the honor of being a writing intern for Indians 4 Social Change, an online platform that aims to "spur change in the world through global community building and journalism". I learnt about Indians 4 Social Change in 2014, as a young 10th grader. Intrigued, I immediately aspired to write for the organization. However, I lacked confidence... after all, why would people be willing to read my words, and take into account my opinion? I remember having a list of my favorite articles, which included 'Freedom From Darkness: A Village in Bihar Powers Itself with Solar Energy' and 'Get Ready for the Rice Bucket Challenge'. I was inspired by the power of journalism, but intimidated by I4SC's vast audience.

However, my initial doubts did not cool my ardor. I started drafting and writing articles in 10th grade, specifically written for Indians 4 Social Change. I dreamed of having them published on this online platform. And sure enough, the articles I wrote in 10th grade were eventually published on my I4SC profile (such as 'Education Within Grasp, Jobs out of Reach?', 'Enmeshed in Shackles: Farmer Suicide', 'Democracy in Education', and 'A Cavernous Gap: College Education in Karnataka', among others)! Perhaps it was the drafts and articles I had written as a sophomore that helped me manage the internship and IB coursework, in the latter half of 2015. (Of course, I had to update/edit these young articles with recent news, information, and quotes once I realized that they were going to be published months after I had written them.) However, despite the portfolio of articles specifically written for I4SC preserved in my notebooks and laptop, I wasn't sure if my articles were good enough to be published.

But a few months later, I cast my misgivings aside. I applied for and clinched the internship over the summer after 10th grade, and my articles were published on I4SC when I started my junior year! Over the next six months, my articles were published; they spanned a vast range of topics, and some were even the source of an intellectual and engaging discussion.

My journey with I4SC was an incredible one... which spanned unofficially over 10th grade and officially over 11th grade and taught me so much about myself and my abilities as a writer. It was one I'll never forget.

Magnitude

A drop of honey dew on a leaf, glinting merrily,

each ray lustrous, sprinkling into light. Zooming

out, a blurry mess of green. A tiled roof, 

a mansion shrinks to a dot of cement, atoms

of bricks, next to the thin line of a greenish river.

The continent becomes a shapeless mass, oceans

become puddles. Zooming out, the planet is a 

sphere, a globe wielded by middle school teachers,

against the backdrop of black--empty, silent

black. Further and further, the sun is a minuscule

orb of light, surrounded by ellipses of spider

webs, each with its own drop of water orbiting

leisurely. Heliocentric beauty.

Zooming out, thousands of spider webs, millions

of glittering orbs of silver and gold, tinged

with red, the blue hues of death. A sparkling 

swirl, haunting tunes emanating from a blue 

dot ensnared in its frightening depths. Twirling,

unfathomable speeds. A black chasm at the center, 

hungry, merciless. Zooming out, billions

of spinning entities, darkened chasms of 

ruthless power. Shining with the light of conflated

stars, with no more power than a point source.

And just as cold. Zooming out, each galaxy is

like a star humanity views on the earth,

spread out against the night sky, oblivious

to the magnitude of what surrounds it. But after all,

the sun arches its path across the sky, planets and stars

chart their courses before our eyes. In our eyes, we live in a

geocentric world. 

Light

Light bends, curves;
thoughts diffract to darkened chasms.
That point source is so far, galaxies
and light years away--a pulsing entity,
golden remnants of a dying star.

Surrounded by brightness, interfering
with a steady stream, a traveling wave of
fantasies, dreams. Interfering until colors disappear,
leaving behind the bitterness of darkness, the
pungent fragrance of fear.

Thoughts ride on waves, approaching the
point source, emitter of light--until it burns brighter,
turning shades of violet, particles vibrating
furiously. Light is a particle and a wave,
doubly powerful.

And so am I, once I reach the sky,
beyond the air, a universe away. Absorbing the light,
doubly strong, bright. Thoughts diffract, spreading their
essence throughout the dark, igniting the dormant
dreams and sparks.

Denouement

Why does a fire roar so loudly? Why
does it consume the oxygen in its midst,
begging for attention among indifferent people?
Why does it make logs prance about,
hissing heat in a sweltering treat?

Sparks steam into the breeze, trying
to draw eyes. But the wind is too strong.

Spluttering, gasping for breath. People walk around,
tossing sticks of wood into the forest. Their ignorance
is freezing, letting a chill pervade
the orange, flickering tongues. The flames
falter for a second, hiccuping. Feeling
the hood of neglect beat down on their skin.

Knowing that they will be appreciated
only when they turn dark, a soft black,
a contrast. And a few glimmers of golden,
letting shivering skin, watering eyes
know the treasures
they had missed.