THY ELOQUENCE

  Strange, right? Hard to digest, but somewhere felt by everyone. Remember the first time you felt self-doubt? The first time you felt that all your efforts fell into silence, but not into nothing. Something you aimed for but could not achieve, Something close yet always just out of reach. A goal, a dream, an ambition you gave your soul into, Chasing it might have felt overwhelming. Falling might not have felt like failing, Rising might not have felt like victory. Everyone prepares for the good part—obviously acceptable! But what about what if? The only thing to expect is one day, one win. Find magic in the ordinary. Shift your perspective just a little, and feel the change within. The lesser you expect, the more you grow within. The lesser you expect, the more you embrace self-love. The lesser you expect, the more joy finds you. The lesser you expect, the more life surprises you. It’s not just what you expect from others, but from yourself too. The best things aren’t explained—the...

The air tonight is thick, darkness stretching out like a lie too polished, too staged. The city below glows in dim yellow light, but it is a deceptive kind of glow, shuddering like a breath too weak to hold on to. Somewhere, laughter spills from a distant window, but it is hollow, floating into the night like a shadow of what once lived. They say the night is beautiful. That it is a whispered promise, a fleeting touch, a sky too vast to hold. But beauty is often just a mask stretched thin over something ugly. The moon shines down, with a smile that does not reach my hollow heart, basking in radiance that was never truly its own. The stars blink like knowing eyes, but they are nothing but remnants of dead things, whispering from too far for us to listen. But the night does not love you. It does not listen to your secrets; it swallows them whole. It watches, as footsteps echo in deserted alleys, as shadows stretch under flickering streetlights. Somewhere, a deal is sealed with a quiet ha...

Little girl doesn't know when she grew up . She only remembers playing on the ground with uncomplicated friendships and swinging in the wind that doesn't sting . She doesn't remember when sadness and anger lost their simplicity . She doesn't remember when her freedom made her more trapped . It gets complicated right? That's life , isn't it? But why does this roller coaster keeps going on , without any thrill? She prays for life to feel like the road trips through plain fields; steady and smooth . But it's like praying at hell's gates . God only grants cursed wishes . And not the sort that's please grant me a broken bone . But the sort that makes you think this is what I want but it only bites you in the back . Because when I ask for a broken bone , I know I'm asking for pain and suffering , but what really kills is when you think something is good and it turns into pain and suffering . I wanted wings but who knew now I won't be able to walk a...

It was a usual introduction to the day - that no one really reads, like a preface of a book with no illustrations. So I skipped to my favourite chapter where the sky is painted beautifully in a majestic blend of orange and blue, the huge ball of fire sinking into the horizon and two strokes of black paint forming what they call birds. After all, I like my story to be full of beautiful pictures.  But the scene had something unusual today - it was silent, not empty, not calm but silent, that unsettling silence that hints at the upcoming storm. Little did I know that turning the page would bring a storm of questions—ones I had never dared to ask before. Why is there so much silence even with so many stories existing out there ? These stories have the power to change the world but what’s going on? Are all of them too busy decorating themselves, that they forgot that it’s the content that matters, not the cover? With so many stories existing out there, how is each story revolving solely...

  Under the cloak of the midnight sky, the city was barren and quiet, the silence so deep that even the wind seemed to hesitate. It wasn’t the usual silence of the after-hours but an uncomfortable stillness that haunted every nook and corner of the place. The streets that were once bustling and crowded were now empty, filled the scent of fear, loss and death. Ironically, he could hear the distant echoes of gunshots and bombs, a cruel reminder that this solitude wasn’t a pleasurable one. He pulled out the gun hidden inside his own pocket then, the cold, heavy metal pressing into his palms as his fingers tightened around it. It was a difficult job, contributing to the suffering of people, but that was the nature of his profession and he had no regrets- it was just another transaction, just another person who knew too much and needed to be eliminated. Perhaps, he could play into people’s beliefs a little longer, pretending to be a soldier fighting for a noble cause; at least until he ...

The rain caught me drizzling a thousand shimmering stars,  when the sky caught me dreaming  a million anecdotes of thriller. Did the chaos bother you? Dear rain? Dear ground? Or was it the mysterious smile? Oh dear totality, are these drops the only ones? The sky seems incessant  and the shore only collapsing. The transcendentalist, with bona fide modesty, drives the cosmos,  not only with perfection but with the utmost clarity. What's that "being" that belongs to me? Or The favourability I belong to? -Aarohi 

    She traced the outline of her face in the mirror, fingers ghosting over features that didn’t feel like hers. Not unrecognizable, just… distant. Like she had been borrowed by the world, piece by piece, until nothing truly belonged to her anymore. She never asked for much not the sky, not the stars, not even a hand to hold. Just a moment, just a breath, just someone to say— "Do you want this?" But no one did. And maybe that was fair. She never let them. She walked the line so well, made it easy to believe she was meant to be there. Yes, it was her fault. She never strayed, never stumbled, always what they needed, always enough. But the ache wasn’t in the doing. It wasn’t in the weight she carried or the choices she never made. It was in the way no one ever noticed. Because that was the whole point of facade, wasn’t it? A perfect act, a seamless smile, never loud enough to be heard, never quiet enough to be found. She should have known better. Humans were never smart creatur...