Poetry in Our Time – Young poets
Boglárka Pápai-( Hungarian gen Z (2008) poet)
Void
I wanna be forever lost,
In this suffocating,
But, oh so beckoning
Nightmare, we call the void.
I am ready for the time
When the emptiness
Consumes me, takes me away
And I won’t ever be again.
But not yet.
But I won’t go yet,
I have to wait.
I have to see what’s in the light.
Miss you
The stars could collide,
The moon could shatter,
The sun could boil,
And I won’t even miss you!
I could know the feeling inside,
I could never matter,
All the fruits could spoil,
And I won’t even miss you!
Morning could be night,
Dawn could be dusk,
Worlds could end,
And I won’t even miss you!
This could be my last fight,
I could turn into a husk,
Something we could never mend,
And I won’t even miss you!
Boglárka Pápai 
a Hungarian gen Z (2008) poet.
She has been writing English poetry since elementary school, in an otherwise non-English environment due to her significant skill in the language.
Using her interest in space, all forms of love and the world, she uses writing as a form of therapy for her blue heart.
Priyamvada Rao
- “Territory”
I don’t want clarity, I tell myself
I want a quiet unknown.
Something that I cannot own.
Something that doesn’t ask me to name how I feel
before I’ve felt it.
Something that doesn’t ask me to kneel
before I believe.
I am tired of being logical
about exhaustion.
I am tired of alchemizing
delusions of relaxation.
I beg myself to forgive my like
a broken worker to a supervisor, mechanized bones to robot brain.
Just once I want to sleep
like an animal, a sense of home wherever I go
body full of sun and ache.
No high and no low.
I fight for this, I strive, I want to bring justice to
the soft fact of being alive.
- “Unlearning Praise”
I have swallowed compliments
with teeth in them.
Like a tree being hit
With its own stem.
I learned to anticipate
I learned to wait
to be calm,
to be clever,
to be always innate.
Now I sit in a quiet room
with no performance to offer
With my heart blank like the desert and emotions in a coffer.
I don’t know how to belong to myself
without applause.
I don’t know how to reward
without cause.
I don’t want to be
exceptional, or brave, or tough.
I want to be
gentle, ordinary,
and enough.
3. “Marching in March”
The air’s too dry,
and my skin flakes off in sentences.
My hair swirls up, trying to pull me away.
I have nothing new to say,
but I talk anyway.
Loud drums in my ears.
Legs of wood.
Stories inside me.
Three ignored gestures.
and a mood I can’t see.
I think I’m doing okay.
Because that’s what I choose to say.
Maybe not.
We’ll find out till May.
- “Hygiene”
Today I washed my face
and felt clean.
A stupid win.
But you don’t know what it may mean.
The world kept spinning.
I kept living.
But, I felt clean.
Like someone who might make it through the day
without unravelling over something she’d seen.
That’s all I’ve got.
Quiet wins.
But they add up
and become the light that consumes the rot.
Priyamvada Rao 
is a 16-year-old student based in India. She is currently studying in high school and has a wide range of interests including writing, psychology, and the arts. She has experience in multiple mediums, ranging from photography to student journalism. She is an avid reader and language learner with a special interest in global culture.
Siddh Dutta
A Promise in Defeat
I wear a crown, that’s a failure’s name.
Standing on the stage, I hold the award with grace.
He who stood next to me,
Holds the award of dignity; which meant to be “me”.
Cheers and applauses echoed through the hall,
Cameras focused on him; even my mother’s smile couldn’t heal the fall.
The dagger of defeat stabbed me from the front, it seemed all.
The hall is empty, yet, I stand with the honor I’ve received that’s all.
Their applause meant nothing; my years of toil now seem worthless to me.
Everything was set, then fate threw the dice.
They stole everything in the dead of night, replacing my dust with their might.
They held the crown of victory; me, with the crown of failure.
None saw the hidden truth; none listened to the meek.
All believed what they saw and the blame fell upon me.
I kissed the earth and left, leaving a promise to return;
With a shining spirit, I’ll make them to withhold,
Like a rainbow after the storm, I’ll prevail.
For I’ll create a history, a legacy to portray.
The Petals of a Soul
When I shall bloom, before I depart;
Let me not see thee with tears on thy face.
For a flower has bloomed, destined for change;
Before the winds scatter petals for a far-distant tale.
Where I’m unknown to destiny’s design,
Shall I be the finest flower to grow in time?
Doth I know that harms and hindrances await;
Yet, my heart yearns to flourish once again.
Oh, I’ve waited for this day to unfold;
When others behold the best flower they’ve told.
And though it must depart, its soul remains;
In the storm, a legacy is created.
In bittersweet memories, my root shall stay;
A fragrance that time cannot erase,
The whispers of love, the gentle sway;
Echoes of life, in a fleeting place.
Though my bloom may fade, my essence stays;
A legacy of beauty, in every way,
In the hearts that saw me, I’ll remain;
A flower’s spirit, forever sustained.
The Fetch of Wonders
I wonder, if fate chose me,
No prayer, no plea, just me and my destiny.
Like the gusty wind, that shifts and sways;
I was taken afar, far from yesterday.
I wonder, can love touch the soul;
Without a gentle hand to hold?
They run their fingers, slow and cold,
On what remains, forever old.
Those eyes that once shone bright and wide,
Now closed, never meant to see inside.
Late, I came, to this place;
A story written, a fate sealed in time’s grace.
Sometimes, in the paradox of acceptance;
Few unsaid efforts calmly resides,
Beneath the surface of calm skies.
To know whether it was meant to a bit more or less,
One has to accept;
That letting go is a bravery,
The act of being courage.
Siddh Dutta 
is 20 years-old poet and writer from Kolkata. He’s published works with Writers Pocket, Hatchegg, and Ukiyoto Publishing House. Pursuing B. Com Honours with CMA and an alumnus of St. Xavier’s. Institution (Panihati). Currently, he’s exploring Indian Poetry in-depth. Follow him on Instagram @sid_tta or search Google to learn more about his creative journey. Siddh’s passion for writing aims to inspire readers worldwide with his poems and unique voice about humanity.