Poetry in Our Poetry

Sangita Kalarickal


The Road to Salvation


I love to exist in my own headspace,
the stories and songs in step,
and having a place to go.
I hate the sweat beading down my back,
merciless beating of the sun,
and the incessant raid of hoverflies.


And I will take my walking stick down the path to Santiago.




the month of Pitrupaksha
we set out food and water
clap wet hands
our forefathers send in their
shining winged companions
to swoop in and peck at the offerings
i frown at the pair.
which one did my grandpa send?
which one came from my grandma.
i’m sure it was the pair
that bickered the most.


Note: Pitrupaksha occurs in autumn in the northern hemisphere, a period when Hindus pay their respects to their ancestors by offering food


A Pratchett Home


(A tribute to the genius of author Terry Pratchet)


We skate along the edge laughing uncontrollably. He holds my waist and tips me over. Tiny dots of stars glimmer. The waterfall spray rises above the tusks of the four elephants we ride on. Fine droplets hit our faces and my eyelids flicker. A slight tug as the one under us adjusts her foot on the back of the great A’Tuin who swims along, unperturbed.

dust to
dust …


Sangita Kalarickal is a Pushcart Prize and Touchstone award nominated wordsmith. Her work is widely published in several journals and anthologies. Her first chapbook of poems is Mamina (Kavya-Adisakrit, 2023). She is an associate editor of Drifting Sands Haibun Journal and conducts the podcast Ripples in the Sand.



Parismita Borah




Hued sky, whimsical breeze
Waltzes through the flowers
Aphids around
Sun up and sun down
Feel it, the soft air
Evaporating my tears,
Summery breath whining out the mouth
Lean the head back to the chair
No one but I alone
Cross-country race of songbirds
I see it,
Summer in my town
Barring, snowfall in my heart.
Achromatic past beating from distance
No I can’t reach it
Strange accent, strange huddles
Hear it all yet catch none.
Snowy it seems
Colder it gets
Summer in my town
Barring, snowfall in my heart.




I have got somebody
Who is more than somebody to me
He got forest green marl eyes
And curling tresses.

Looks so gentle
On our very first date !
In his iced aqua shirty jacket
Gave me an austrian shawl
While drinking nectar of snowdrops
His breath gives cold snaps
I like his icicle smile
His misty cold skin


He kisses my bronzed cheeks
Looking at my daisy eyes
Runs his fingers
Through the hayfield of my hair
I sit with an estival regard
Sipping cerulean mocktail
I sense a zephyrean afternoon
He senses a blizzard night


I am the anorak he finds warmth within
He is the starry night i find coolth within.




Cold breezes have come to a cease
Sweaty are the dresses!
Back of the hands chafing softly
Cicadas singing to their silent mouths
‘Quixotic romance’-
Not the words but his slow hum
Not the flower she plucked but her ablush smile
Time goes quicker, footsteps getting nigher
Soft peachy air covers their silence
They keep on walking
On the pink clouds
On the green fields
On the sandy pondside
Where love grows
‘Quixotic romance’-
Neither the sunset nor the watercolored sky!
But their hands clenched by
As they walk, as love runs!


I am Parismita Borah from Golaghat, Assam. I’m Currently 19 and will be pursuing Bachelor’s Degree in Psychology from Downtown University, Guwahati. Apart from writing I also create fashion content on youtube and instagram. My Instagram handle: https://www.instagram.com/she.is.bloodthirsty?igsh=dWl1bnVrMW9naG14&utm_source=qr


Pawan Thakur


Different Worlds


I am not sure If ever

He gone see the world

From the eyes of her

But one thing I am sure

The world is and has been

Very different place for her

What he has taken granted

Is not same for her

Even the words meant differences

What he says and what she perceives

They live in two different worlds

In a shared world.


For Mamta




Colouring life

Leads to colour the world

Find your colours

The Universe is full of colours

Go, take them

And colour lives, world…


Own yourself


It is about you

It has been about you

You who had have the courage

To be vulnerable

To ring the door

Pity them

Who lost the touch of human





I went to her/him

I couldn’t ask more


Somewhere deeply

I felt

She/he knows

What is good for me




On Love




I hope

Love finds you

When you need it

The most





If you find love

We are not meant

To be alone




There is a voice

with in depth

Of all

Calling to


Feeding on Love




I write

To travel


Words travel

I write

To reach

Your doorstep





come as you are

with every stitch

every scar.




I wish

I hope

You meet

And find

The world

Is still worth

To live

Bio –
Currently working as Research Associate at IIT Mandi. Passionate about reading and writing, lives in Manali, Kullu.

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