#expressionslsr

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Share Between Dreams at Sunset

by Annesha B Bhuyan

Dear Muse,

Sunset Dreams, I once had one.

Vague vision of your eyes, and mild waves of your voice infiltrated my conscious mind and halted at the port where dreams sailed.

Seldom when I paint a lucid portrait of us, it turns out to be as airy as your locks unlike our tangled strands of life sealed in air-tight cardboard boxes.

Contrary to popular belief, storytelling isn’t one of my strongest pursuits. But perhaps I’ll have a marvelous time ruining my treasured mirage for you.

Walking in a gown through the lobby filled with murmur, I spotted an acquaintance walk in. Notably, he was wearing the same colour as me – White. But how did it ever skip my mind that white had variant shades and they don’t always compliment each other. I greeted him with the familiar smile that repeatedly made it quite futile for people to decipher its legitimacy.

He greeted my folks, had lunch and asked me for a place to smoke. I withdrew him to secrecy and walked him out.

Just when I was about to slump against the nearest chair, I espied YOU walking straight to me dressed in the colour that complimented your skin tone the most. Let me just put out the only sane thought that I had in mind, “How do you always manage to be the exact opposite of me?”

But did I enquire that? Nah, I did not.

With sparkling eyes, the only thing I could do was just to return your unwavering gaze. Accelerating to your greeting my dad, given my mom by now grasped that if my wishes came true, it would always have been you.

I chaperoned you to my front porch for a breath of fresh air, and you took out one of your classic cigars. I frenzied, “Have you lost your mind? At least think about your image in front of my folks. I could’ve taken you someplace remote.”

“Do you really think I care about your someplace remote? I am not your whitewashed good boy now. Am I? The only person I care about is you.”

Peeking deep in your watery eyes, I couldn’t infer the latent world behind them. I tiptoed to hold you but rather you bowed to kiss me. We met midway and our noses pecked. And there came the habitual giggle.

I tugged at your coat sleeve. “Where are we going Crybaby?”

“To someplace better Princess”, I replied with the widest grin on my face.

Running through the vast meadows, the aroma of mustard hit us. And we kept running with the collaging sky at sundown. Standing in the middle of nowhere, I turned and gazed at you with teeming emotions. Your face replicated my chords and before another wink, I breathed – I love you!

I got hold of your collar and kissed you until it made every fibre of my being buzz with glee.

Did the auburn hues of the retired sun make my eyelids flutter? You would know better, won’t you? Was it another day of waking up alone? By any chance, was Mary on a Cross playing?

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Adoring the Storm

by Shrutismita Borkakoti

You assured me evenfall till dawn,

I compressed your hand when the breeze got fierce,

Then you comforted me, clasping my heart.

Now I'm standing, in the midway of the tempest.

Having only the landscape to escort me.

I can overhear the scenery, and we're conversing.

The expeditious breeze hugs me tight and moves on,

Returning to reassure me!

The thunder strikes with loud noises,

Telling me I'm not alone over here.

The lonesome sky,

Proving me, I'll have to do it by myself.

The rain falls swiftly, kissing me throughout

With its tender drops.

But the thunder strikes, tearing apart the clouds,

Struggling to light the sky,

And ushering me a path!

Now I thank you for leaving me here.

I loved you then!

But now,

I adore the storm!

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Soft as Peace

by Yoganjana Singh

Like lilies

slowly swaying

with the wind,

A gentle hand writes on a blanched page.

It has supple skin and waxen nails.

What is the worth of her ink? One might say,

Does a message mean less when carried by a dulcet?

Borne by breezes and ripples

Rather than storms or high-pitched screams.

Stagnancy holds a gentle sorrow

hanging like unshifting vines over mulberry leaves,

While change rides a war-chariot.

We worship violence and cry when we bleed,

And then, in happy homes, an unnoticed tear falls into the tea.

If all good art will portray pain,

Where do I go when I want peace?

We look at water, just to see ourselves

For once, just notice the lily.

Imperfect and dirty,

but still a wonder entwined with the ordinary.

Generations are in awe of men who died early.

Brevity is admirable.

But what of old age in musty cottages by the sea.

For once, I hope our race romanticizes mediocrity.

[expressions-lsr]

FORBIDDEN!

by Athira

In another universe, in another moment in time, can we be together?

I want this to be a poem, but my thoughts, and feelings for you won't allow me to versify what has been penned for you because when it comes to you, I would rather be chained in hell than here. Let me be free to pursue you, at least in my heart, to my heart's content.

`/Apples lie rotten on the ground where I found you; would the forbidden, if left unnoticed, soon find me rotting? /`

On a summer evening, I found you looking at yourself, in an attempt to not find yourself in others' eyes. But that chance moment changed my life. From then on, you are the only one I looked at. However, I knew what I saw in you is forbidden and I shouldn't seek it...

Seeking something that has never been hidden but only gone unnoticed until then, would that count as forbidden? I am simply recognizing my love, and in that simple act of recognition, there is a violent attack on what could be the most humane side of me.

Enchanted by the apple's beauty, wouldn't one want to know the essence, the scent, the taste of the flesh that makes one experience such surreal beauty. Once I ate the apple, I was bewitched, and in a trance that I haven't been able to come out of. From then on, everything I did was forbidden, for you and me. And the more I tried to forbid the forbidden acts, everything started rotting as if they were being starved, and forbidden of something so essential to their being.

`/What's forbidden? My love or the idea that I have feelings for you? When it's love, can anything less than love forbid it from achieving its ends? /`

If I had met you in another space, devoid of time and progression of all kinds, would you choose me?

My love is devoid of lies, contradictions, and everything that works against the love that I have kept in me for so long. All I can feel is what I know, and what I know is something I cannot hide for the fear of it rotting more than it being drowned in the water that makes it survive.

My love found you late, but should that forbid what remained in my heart for so long? My love, which waited for years to finally bloom at the sight of you.

My love cannot possess you but it can allow you to transcend the possessions you have been, to make you feel the freedom of being in love. For all these years you were forbidden, but I can let you be free, only if you let me be free in expressing my love for you.

/`/"In love, it's all fair, the aches, wounds, and scars that may take years to heal because in love, you are not feeling the potential of life but the experience of becoming one with the being that sees you in the rawest form, and almost devoid of life.

You are witnessing the being in you while 'being' with another being in a space that transcends life and flourishes on the truth that has always connected you two. So, in love, can anything not be possible? (Aren't possibilities the chance occurrences that dominate life? Can such ideas indicate the definite path of an idea through which life has been found, even if that path is founded on transgressions?)"/`/

"To love something, then, is to name it after something so worthless it might be left untouched—and alive."

~Ocean Vuong

To keep you alive, and for me to survive, I will keep calling you forbidden so that anyone who wishes to be yours steps back, fearing consequences, which in my case happen to nothing important because I have become you in acts of repeated imitations of pronouncing my love for you in a silent prayer only to be heard by you.

If you are forbidden, no one can possess you, can they? But I suppose love doesn't follow that rule. You could be all consumed in the ecstasy of love.

So, I shall never name you because our name is a secret that, if found, could never be lost again. And isn't love all about getting lost again and again to be found by love again and again.

"Don't we touch each other just to prove we're still here?"

~Ocean Vuong

I won't hurt you, and I wouldn't want to, even with a simple glance at you. But how am I supposed to tell you that I have been waiting for you without ever touching you with my presence? How can I make you hear my voice when my presence is often present and absent in the noises of the surroundings, without ever touching you with the tremors in my voice?

I want to tell you that I am here, looking at you, wondering if I would have found you before, maybe then I wouldn't have had to relive my past that forbids me from meeting you, often translating into a present in which the future seems unreachable in the reality construed by us.

Can we, perhaps, leave everything behind and become one in a paradise that exists parallel to the reality we are in? Can we do that?

I want to be with you, even if I fall and hurt myself, because in you there's something I wish to have, even though it tastes like sweet poison, something that would bring me back to myself.

I know you want to recognize me, but being the taboo is quite poisonous, so you avoid my eyes and avert your gaze while yearning to be together in each other's presence. But I don't mind being touched by the poison because perhaps that's the only remedy for my aching soul, wishing to be loved and found in love one last time.

"Perhaps love can be spoken in different tongues, but it's only in the embrace of your loved one that you can feel that love can never be spoken about because it simply lives with neither a past to worry about nor a future to go on existing. It is an experience rooted in its movement towards becoming something more than what it is, but it needs to be recognized for it to bloom between the ones who find it lingering near them."

Please don't run away before finding me, and if you are afraid of being in a space so forbidden that people rarely look at it, please let me guide you to a space that has been ours from the beginning. Our love was never forbidden; it was us who were forbidden from being in love. But in love, can anything be forbidden? How can one touch a rose if one forbids the thorns from touching their skin?

This time, I will be 'the forbidden' so that you can seek while I run and hide in a place only you and I know.

[expressions-lsr]

Organ Deep

by Anusurjya Borah

Skin-deep, they said. They said love makes you feel skin deep. But of ages late, the depths of my joints, the hollows where life’s marrow should be, and the cavities that should be cushioned by muscle and fats, all of it has only been sucking on and into itself. Love, the presence of its absence, has sunk in organ deep into my soul, a parasite consuming from inside and thereupon turning from life’s Last Leaf to the vision of a boggart constantly terrorising my mind. Love has taken ‘in sickness and in health’ quite dearly as even in its death it hounds my shadow. If only i could go to the pharmacist for medicine to revive my heart’s health back into its virgin state of keeping well, and not a crone’s wobbling knees barely keeping up with the weight of unfortunate affairs.

If only love was truly coffee breath warming the frozen winters.

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The Mother

by Priyadarshini Stuti

I revisit her on my trips down the memory lane.

Her eyes carry the cheer of festivities,

an inviting warmth, a welcoming embrace.

Her laughter, contagious;

it rings with the cacophony of voices known.

Her smile beams through her dimpled meadows,

through nurtured gardens through hallowed echoes-

of Time.

The wind is a gracious host,

it carries wistful wafts of her scent; diffuses it.

It smells like my mother's cooking, and

it smells like my grandmother's laundry-

crisp; under the afternoon sun.

It smells like the ripened fruits of a youthful summer.

She sings, and in her melody,

she hides subtle notes;

the lullabies of the townsfolk,

the hymns of the namghar,

the joyful rhythm of heartbeats.

We hold hands together, and i-

reminiscing about our time together, i-

feel my heart bear a heavy burden-

of Melancholy.

And in a moment's, time-

the clocks break loose.

realisation;

an acknowledgement of the time that had passed on

since we parted ways...

Her tears azure, alike raindrops prancing across the sacred river.

And in it-

shaken, distraught, yet visible

i catch a glimpse of my reflection.

Time, is the larva that spins it's cocoons fast

I glance upon the pupae caught in the web of nostalgia.

A mother she was, she nurtured,

the culture of the people residing within.

Deep etched like the wrinkles on her furrowed brow.

Deep buried under her skin, lies history.

Time is a butterfly spreading it's wings for the first time...

Her children had left her, and they were

leaving still- dreaming of eventful lifetimes,

of charades of accolades, of charades of lifestyles.

She turned toward me and her face,

faced mine; she looked weary, her hair graying and yet-

her appearance hadn't altered from her youthful self.

The itsy bitsy shops all stand rugged, but firm.

And the houses, with their sash frames

Outlive the ones who once reigned abode.

Time is a fire breathing dragon,

Disrepair; it's flames-

burn into the small desolate structures,

which once promised eternity.

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Knowingly Unknown

by Avantika Kumari

Deep inside a wounded heart,

Lies the memory of a 20s start.

Every day feels like a fight,

Darkness lurking in the light.

Haunted by what was done ,

Haunted by what is gone.

Every step feels like a struggle,

Every day seems like a juggle.

Courage to move through the pain,

Happy 20s memories to regain.

The past may have left its mark

But it won't define a life that's stark.

A bright future can still form,

A new chapter can be born.

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Falling in, Falling out

by Shifa Neyaz

Love is like an ocean.

Beautiful, deep and as dangerous as can be.

You might fall in love without ever meaning to.

Ever realising that it’s happening as it slowly digs its claws in.

And once you are there, it smothers you and drowns you.

Pulling you in and never letting go.

There are dangerous beings lurking behind,

Pitting your downfall every second of every day.

But as scary as it is, the ocean is also the most beautiful thing that exists.

Even as you are drowning with water surrounding every inch of you,

Breathing seems like the easiest thing in the world. Every breath fills up your lungs, putting you at ease.

And though there might be creatures, that want nothing more than your ruin,

As you look around, you notice the pretty corals and the many little fish.

You see the beauty that surrounds you, and there is no confusion.

As treacherous as it is, the ocean will keep you safe.

The waves will embrace you when you’re down,

Carry you high when you win, just always be around.

But what if it pushes you away, and leaves you on a shore?

Covered in sand that hides the bruises of being shoved.

Wounds of betrayal that’ll never fully heal.

How do you get up, when this pain is all you feel?

Falling into the ocean is easy, but when it forces you out

You’re stranded in the middle of nowhere, not a person in sight to tend to your wounds

You’re stranded alone, through summers, winters and monsoons.

Expected to survive on your own, on this island no one knows.

Falling for you was easy, I jumped in without a doubt.

But now that I am alone, how do I get out?

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Chrysalis

by Attrija

It was a mausoleum of her memories.

Dead petunia and rose petals were strewn on the bedside table, taking attention away from the creases on the bed sheet. She used to lie there, for hours on end, sometimes scrolling through her phone, reading multiple books at once or scribbling in her black book.

I have seen her toss and turn through the night, sometimes lying wide awake in the dead of the night staring listlessly at me. It was during those moments that I wished I could help her even a little. I felt so useless at times, mainly when she was feeling the same bedeviled by her own thoughts. I could make that out from her physiognomy: dull bleary eyes, chapped lips and bloodless face. Her stare pierced through my heart. Every night, she buried memories, feelings, thoughts underneath the bed, it was like a secret sanctimonious affair. I used to think that it would be a prolegomenon of the poetry book she wanted to write, but perhaps a sad poet’s enemy is their own self. I could see the magical intertwining of her old and new self, every night, birthing her present self. It was a cycle, unbeknownst to her.

There were days when the bed used to be empty, that’s when my life came to a standstill. Moving around at full speed, I was used to seeing her succulent pains and how she coped with them. I could map her life, all three sixty degrees of it, that’s how much I loved her. But I don’t think she ever knew that. She was majestic, and I, a lonesome object. There was no way I could be something to her.

Nights passed, while my existential crisis lingered on. She had her fair share of rosy albeit prosaic days, while I moved around non-stop for her. It was summer, so it meant that I would rarely be switched off in the scorching Delhi heat. That was a relief, because I wanted to make myself useful as much as possible.

One summer night, there was a thick veil of ominous silence between us.

Paranoid as I was, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her to understand what she was going through. This time her thoughts struck my blades tangentially. That’s when I realized her thoughts were not getting buried under the bed, rather they were being scattered all over the ceiling, in shades of candlelight.

That was the day of ‘her’ becoming.

Her bed was her chrysalis that protected her from the outside world, a safe haven that housed her silent cries as well as her laughter cloaked with the mundane hum of the heart. And I was the centerpiece of her life’s theater. Her longing stares towards me weren’t just ordinary. They were carefully crafted fluttering of eyelids and zigzag motion of the pupils that straightened out the curls in her mind. That was the beauty in her saturnine nights.

Every day, I helped her become a butterfly in her world, whilst preserving the sanctity of her chrysalis that she kept growing and coming back to at night.

That was the night of ‘my’ becoming.

-An excerpt from the tale of ‘Feelings on the ceiling’

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Orange bowl

by Siddhi Kaul

My face feels hot

Tears make my vision blurry

I fight the urge to slam the door

Because I know I'll only be yelled at more

I mentally scream as I gently close it

Run to the bathroom to cry on the floor

I wash my face, look in the mirror and smile

Convincing myself I'm just fine

It always went like this

There was nothing new in my silent rage

Studying now was my best bet

As I filled page after page

Drowning my tears in algebra always worked

The math frustrating me more than my troubles

And just as the air was lighter

My door creaks open as your footsteps thud

My eyes buried in my books, I refuse to look up

You place a bowl of fruit on my table and leave

Not a word, far from an apology

Cut and chopped, peeled and all

My grudge not enough to let food go to waste

So I pick up a slice and put it to taste

And deeply exhale from my lungs

As the sharp citrus hits my tongue

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Cosmic Constant

by Tejaswini

undeciphered stares

hold declarations unspoken

almost touching hands

leave lingering temptations

unkept promises

hide dangerous hope

stars light years away

illusioned together by constellations

threads of the souls

woven and torn by heart

[expressions-lsr]

Where the Neem Stands

by Zubiya

My Ammi told me to apply neem—which was ironic, considering how much she hated it. The very sight of its leaves made her itchy, and sometimes they even made her feel sick. She despised that neem tree in our garden, cursing it with all the colorful words she could muster. It seemed like a permanent fixture of her discontent. Yet, the tree was never cut down. I wondered if it was because the tree provided my Abbu with a cool shade in the scorching summer, a place for them to rest and relax. Maybe that was the reason. Maybe the tree itself wanted to leave, sensing the disdain radiating from everyone but staying rooted in our yard despite it all. But then, why do you ask me to seek help from a tree that my family has always hated?

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Khidki (Window)

by Mannat

Khidki ! That's what they call me, a silent observer standing tall amidst life’s ebb and flow. I see you there, gazing through me with longing and hope, your heart yearning for the freedom that lies beyond my iron bars. You and I, we are kindred spirits, bound by our shared desire for something more, yet tethered to the realities of our existence.

I have witnessed your journey, feeling the weight of your struggles and the joy of your triumphs. From the depths of despair when you felt like giving up, to the heights of joy when you were skipping through the room like a maniac, I have been by your side, a silent observer of your life.

I remember the late nights when you whispered your hopes and dreams through my glass, the soft glow of your phone illuminating your face as you poured your heart out to your crush. And I recall the moments of solitude when you sought solace in my presence, surrounded by textbooks and notes, determined to conquer the challenges that lay ahead.

Through it all, I have remained steadfast, offering you a glimpse of the world outside while providing a sanctuary within my sturdy frame. I have seen your vulnerabilities and your strengths, your fears and your courage, and I have embraced them all without judgement or reservation.

For you, dear friend, are not just a passerby in my existence. You are a part of me, woven into the fabric of my being through shared experiences and shared emotions. And as you stand before me now, I am reminded of the resilience that resides within both of us, a resilience that will carry us through whatever challenges lie ahead.

I see you gazing at me still, trying to find inspiration for this monologue. Looking at me intently and trying to infuse life into me with your powerful words. I do feel shy but hey ! I’m not complaining, I’ve always been a charmer.

For the first time in my life, you are looking “at” me, not just beyond me. My rusty frame, not so tight handles and dirty bars do make me feel ashamed. But I never judge your Sunday gossip sessions do I ? I do in fact enjoy them. Who do you like right now ? God ! I’ve lost track.

I feel your frustration as you struggle to end this on a good note. But you don’t have to. My beauty lies in the mundane. I’ve been with you through thick and thin but most importantly, I’ve been your companion through normalcy. And when someone is so close ingrained in your daily life, you can only promise them one more thing - I hope to be by your side through all the normal and abnormal days. And I sincerely hope that you FINALLY change these brown pardas (curtains), their colour wears me off don’t you think ?

[expressions-lsr]

Homeless

by Aneesha

If you ask me my address.

I might tell you a house number in a Posh Street.

But that place is not my home,

I take shelter there in the scorching heat

While my soul wanders alone

In the glimmer of night sky

I see planes flying by

I see the metro running in the day light

And the sun shining really bright

The city dances its heart out

And I find myself standing alone in the crowd

Unable to move my limbs on my own

Yet moving ahead because of the force of the wind blown

The city calls me

And I too respond

But in the bustle of the flee

I feel my voice gone

I speak

They don't hear

And then I lose the courage to even whisper

My hesitant eyes try to find comfort in the known

But even the sky of the city feels different

The fear strikes in my bones

And I turn into a stone

Not that Kind which is considered as an art

Rather an obstacle in their path

I will be homeless for a while

Everyday walking a different mile

I will give you my address but

I can't call it my home

You can find me there

But maybe my heart will be wandering at some different land on its own.

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The Dying Patient

by Nausheen

Like a dying patient latching onto dear life,

I cling to the hope of a text or a cal.

My screen flashes bright, and so do my eyes,

But why does it suffocate my happiness-this knowing that it

is not you..

Like a dying patient swallowing heaps of pills,

Thinking this pain would meet its end,

There is an ocean of love in a corner of my heart-reserved

for none but you to dip your toes and feel things as deeply

as I do...

Despite knowing it would dry, my heart is stubborn-it

refuses to comply..

This medicine is all too familiar now, the taste is bitter, yet I

swallow the pill down..

Like a dying patient thinking that this pain would meet its

end,

I often forget-it's about feelings, not flowers that will wither

when the spring ends...

[expressions-lsr]

“Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.” — Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

Expressions, The English Creative Writing Society of Lady Shri Ram College for Women, is home to aspiring writers, poets, avid readers and people who enjoy tuning in to their creative sides. In our society, there are no limits in the realms of inks, thoughts, words and dreams. There is a smorgasbord of emotions that we hone and nurture in our society, creating a safe space for all writers to express themselves.

Our society is committed to providing a range of opportunities to explore and experiment with a vast multitude of literature genres, writing styles and means of artistic expressions. Our monthly initiatives include Living Poets’ Society (contrary to the famous Dead Poets’ Society), Writer of the Month, Slam Poetry, Writing sessions and Guest Lectures. Each of these initiatives are crafted with care to provide a haven to the wordsmiths of our college, filled with ardent appreciation and love for their literary pursuits.

We also publish the work of our core team and open society members monthly and annually in our newsletters named ‘Brewed Beans’ and ‘Expresso’ respectively. Both our newsletters are inspired from the poet's love for coffee and poignance emanating from the freshly brewed cup.

Brewed Beans is a newly launched newsletter consisting of both theme based and non-theme based entries with unique, innovative and interactive components to increase engagement with the student body and to challenge their ‘comfort writing zones.’ On the other hand, Expresso is the cherished legacy of our society, reflecting the year long compilation of our creative pieces based on strong and empowering themes.

Like Sylvia Plath, in her famous book The Bell Jar writes about the hum of the heart ‘I am, I am, I am’, at the very core of our society, the ‘hum of the heart’ is given utmost importance. We too are committed to create an environment where writers and readers from all backgrounds are welcome without any judgment or preconceived notions about a particular writing style or genre.

Our society is based on exchanging ideas, refining thoughts and providing constructive feedback in order to help the writer reach their full potential. With a myriad opportunities for growth and exploration, Expressions is not just a creative outlet but also a place where writers bond and help each other get over their writing and/or reading blocks. Creativity has no bounds or a set timeline and inspiration can strike any time. Being fully cognizant of this fact, we respect our writers’ creative cycles and find ways to make them feel fearless in their own voices by making them feel supported and loved.

Expressions is more than just a society. It is the epitome of diversity, art and literature. It is the go-to-place for feeling seen, heard, safe and finding what lies beyond what the eyes can see.

Masterlist: Team Introduction

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