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Shaurya Arya-Kanojia

PO# 652365
India
India
Trying hard to be Batman. Also, the author of End of the Rope, a psychological thriller novella (https://amzn.to/3bcQbaY)
May 19, 2020
 

To be obsessed,
With perfection.
To always don,
The cloak, the dress
Of maniac fixation.
To live in a house
Of prosperity,
Of unrealistic expectation.
To hammer at, buttress,
Anything but
Gently caress
That temptation.
The allure,
Of the door
That leads to perfection.
That promises glory,
Is futile,
For it's just
A transportation,
That drops me
Into the coldness
Of frustration.

SIMPLICITY DAY
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May 15, 2020
 

Till when, can I
Live in the past,
Embodied
In the cast
Of what once was,
Of the time
That draws
Backwards, instead
Of forwarding fast.
Don't they say
The present
Trumps the past,
That it outlives,
That it oulasts?
Then why is living in the past
An obsession
That everlasts,
No matter how much
It makes me
Downcast?

INKTOBER: VIPASHA
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May 1, 2020
 

There's a storm,
Maybe a torpedo, or
Of some other form.
Because it's causing
Damages,
And it ravages
Inside me.
But it's a storm, all right.
It's dark, relentless,
And black, the absence of light.
Which pushes me,
No, wait, it compels,
Forces, impels.
Stopping me, from quietening.
Thrusting me into the clearing.
The land of gold, it's called.
And, yet, it's forlorned.
Desolate, bleak, deserted,
From where, all evil
Spawned.

QUILL CREATION
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April 25, 2020
 

The day was heavy,
As much as it was
Slow.
For it was the day,
An anxious day, when
I'd see my best friend
Go.
Trepidation was
In the air,
Sadness everywhere,
In every corner,
It flowed.
I felt crappy,
And, admittedly,
Childishly sappy.
Because it was a hard punch,
A hard blow.
And, as the hour turned,
And the sun
Started getting
Low.
The time was nearing
For the goodbye,
For the final
Throw
Of the dice.
And I was scared.
Scared for myself,
For uprooting this plant
That we'd, together,
Helped grow.
For it was the final time,
I would see her
Go.

SIMPLICITY DAY
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April 17, 2020
 

He sees them,
Those two boys,
Play.
Spending the day,
With the sun shining about,
Cheerful, happy
And gay.
As they stomp,
And kick, even fall,
In a puddle
A puddle of happiness, you can say.
Of dirt, of mud,
Of the things that lay.
Among the filth,
The grime.
But to this, the two boys
Don't pay
Any heed
Instead, they lay
In the murk, on this sunny day.
As they play,
Laugh out loud, even bray.
And he,
Who sees the boys,
Feels a spray,
Of longing.
Of being,
Away.

SIMPLICITY DAY
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April 1, 2020
 

There was a time,
A time, so sublime,
When I could walk
The fine line,
That separates freedom
And the bounds of time.
When I could see,
The time I was within limits,
And when I
Strayed out of line.
When I could separate,
My arrogance from
My ability to
Shine.
When I could sift through
What was out of reach
And what was mine.
But that time,
A time, so sublime,
Has gone,
Leaving me indifferent,
Albeit a suffering
Mime.

INKTOBER: LADY SKYLARK
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March 25, 2020
 

The thing about nights,
When the lights,
Are out, and no one's about.
Is the lack,
Like they've been pushed back,
Of voices, those unrelenting noises.
Which interfere,
Cause you to wear
The mask of fakeness, of opaqueness.
When, deep down, you long,
To sing a song.
Of letting yourself be, of
Feeling free.

DARK NIGHT
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March 23, 2020
 

Let's say,
If you can imagine,
As you may,
On a given day,
There's a sea, and,
On the far end, a bay.
On the coast, children,
And their parents, play.
In the church, the needful and,
The heedful, pray.
In the skies above, birds twitter,
Joyful, happy and gay.
And the people, the capable
And the frayed.
Are all happy, singing
With the day.
And, among them
As I lay.
Seeing I've come
All the way.
That it's indeed a lovely,
A beautiful day.

INKTOBER: VIPASHA
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March 22, 2020
 

Being alone feels like,
A delicious, mouth watering
Slice of emancipated freedom,
Like the world's slipped
Into an inescapable,
Bleak, desolate glum.
And all that's left, all that remains
Is you, a happy, joyful chum.

KALEIDOSCOPE
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March 19, 2020
 

The world needs more of,
Experiences, an adventure,
The mystique of the unknown,
The uncertainty of the future.

Than existential crises,
The threat to individualism,
Of the forces that limit us,
Force us into collectivism.

GABRIELLE
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March 18, 2020
 

Slowly, life has taught me,
That my ambitions,
My goals, my aspirations,
Are as concrete,
As definitive, as complete
As the cup of coffee on my table,
The book on my shelf,
The hero of my fantasy fable.

However, I've come to believe,
It's the abstract,
The what-ifs, not the facts,
Of life, that fascinate me,
That decontaminate me.
For I'd like a world of unknowns,
Where there is more hope,
More bright colours
And less dark undertones.

INKTOBER: MARUSHKA SCOTT
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March 17, 2020
 

Little did I know,
That the truth of life,
Is not in the riches or even the rags,
Not even in harmony or strife.

But the struggles we've endured,
Our endeavours, our tries
For they are the fabric of who we really are,
They are what separate the truth,
From the lies.

AAKASH PANDEY
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March 14, 2020
 

Light me up like
The first rays of the sun,
As that yellow disc climbs out the hill,
The brightness creeps in,
Leaving the darkness undone.

Like the flush of blue,
As it bleeds into the morning sky,
Turning the heavens above
Into a beautiful, majestic clue.

POOJA TYAGI
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March 13, 2020
 

Writing in the night is like,
Sneaking out as everyone else sleeps,
When no one can hear you,
And no one can take a peep.
It's like swimming by yourself in the open sea.
Amid the waves that glimmer in the moonlight,
A moment only you can cherish, only you can see.
It's like a bite of delicious freedom,
That lets you escape to a world of fantasies,
Where the world is completely mum.

AAKASH PANDEY
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March 11, 2020
 

Dear 100 year old me,
You've lived a long life,
Of pinks and blues,
Of your list of don'ts and dos.
It's been fulfilling and long.
Of less rights and more wrongs.

And now I stand
On the doors to the afterlife
Of joy and no sorrow,
Of today and no tomorrow
I look back and the years gone by,
But I can't say goodbye.

SIMPLICITY DAY
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March 9, 2020
 

If the world were a book,
I'd never run out of stories,
The fantasies,
The imagination,
And a world where
There are a lot less worries.

If the world were a book
I'd flip through page after page,
Live them,
Feel them,
Like the perfect ensemble
On the stage.

IQRA
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March 9, 2020
 

Some beginnings are,
Like a drop in the sea,
They plunge in with power,
Accelerating with gravity.

Nonetheless, they do surface,
All wet, washed and slick.
And how lovingly they embrace,
At the things they pick.

VISIONS
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March 7, 2020
 

Coffee in the morning,
Is like a trigger warning.
That makes me,
As good as I can be,
Feel free,
Like the open, wide sea.

POOJA WAHANE SUBMISSION
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March 6, 2020
 

Dawn after dawn,
I hear the birds twittering and singing,
Singing their favourite songs.
And, sitting in my comforted luxury,
I think about the times I was happy,
The grievances I've had to bury,
And the time I've felt crappy.
But I realised, how this roller coaster ride
Will always turn in its own way,
And no matter who's sitting by your side,
In the end, life will have the last say.

INKTOBER: VIPASHA
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March 4, 2020
 

As he sat down,
With a heavy heart.
At his computer
And gave it a start.
He realised, the real examination
Was not the evaluation,
Of his knowledge, his intellect,
Or anything so direct.
But his morals, his values,
And of the many things
Which are just a few.
And so, as he saw the word 'FAIL,'
He wasn't sad,
And he didn't wail,
Because he knew
There was so much more
In life, to avail.  

SLAPPIN' THE BASE
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March 3, 2020
 

The Coffee Stain (Weekly Challenge)

Coffee stain,
On the pillow,
My heart feels,
Quite but shallow,
As I look out,
Through the window.
The mountain stands atop,
Populated by many a willow,
The blue, serene sea,
Spread out below.
The bright sun above,
Warms me in its wallow,
Then why do I, as I
See within myself,
Feel empty and hollow?

KALEIDOSCOPE
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March 3, 2020
 

Good things, when short
are twice as good.
But if you stretch them,
Agonise them, they aren't
as you would.
So stop looking, sit back,
As often as you could,
For good things, when short
are twice as good.

INKTOBER: MARUSHKA SCOTT
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