Grid View
List View
  • akankshya7 2w


    I have walked through,
    the most untrodden paths,
    and the crowded ones.

    The thinnest roads,
    Without meeting destiny.

    Ones lined with gulmohurs,
    Of gleeful days they remind.

    Eden Gardens of life,
    they taught me to dare enough.
    The fruit of knowledge,
    Is worth the miseries now.

    For I contently boast,
    I've walked red carpets,
    and the roads so cold.

  • akankshya7 7w

    Multi authored

    James you know in a way, people are stories written by multiple writers in collaboration. Some writers we're kind so they filled as much love as they could and some were harsh and they broke their nibs and spilt ink, drenched my pages and spoiling some pre written that I can never read them once again. Even if I wished to.

    I don't blame the intentions. I don't blame the writers. I don't blame my fate. I'm grateful to those writers who lightened the weight of my life book to the left.

    How very very mysterious life is. I'm nightmared of changing weather. I'm nightmared of scorching afternoons and of shady days and heavy rains. There's no vengeance against the writer but a fear of the plot. Every time the sun plays a hideous game in monsoons a rush of adrenaline takes over. I fear the settings, I'm running from my past. I know I'm afraid but I bother not. I know there's a night to my days and an epilogue to every writers stories.

  • akankshya7 7w

    Silent poems

    Poems once I wrote,
    are now dead verses.
    Verses that're recited
    In a silent kingdom.
    Kingdom of nuance-free
    People that are toneless.
    Toneless kingdom of silence
    Now recite my dead poems

  • akankshya7 8w

    City of happening

    City of happening
    my heart doesn't ever sleep.
    Buzzes of new ardour
    Beeps of a new hope, oh boy!
    Not again logic yells
    But city of happening
    my heart doesn't ever sleep.

    Infinite people suicide.
    of loneliness disgust failure
    In the city of my heart.
    Time doesn't leak
    In the city of happening
    my heart. Alas!
    Rest my dear. No matter what
    City of happening my heart
    doesn't ever sleep..

  • akankshya7 9w


    It rained when I was happy,
    I remember the day.
    I wished I lived more scanty,
    Others happy life as mine.

    It rained when I sat alone,
    Seeing others pass by.
    My debts were heavy on,
    The days passed soon as well.

    Dandelions we seem to be,
    Traders of emotions.
    Nothing stayed in, nor shall,
    World of change it was, it will be.

  • akankshya7 9w


    I was afraid of monsters. Crawling towards me as darkness eclipsed every shade of the sky into sheer nothingness. Void. Barren. I would drop my lids in hopes of palliating the discomposure brimming with conspicuous uneasiness. Till a sweet sleep caressed my lids and carried me along to a dreamland.

    Where things were as I wanted them to be. Where river flowed the way I wished and birds tweedled the songs I loved. Flowers bloomed in choiciest colours. Gossamer of butterflies hovering over. But what I never dreamt of dark!

    The day I realised I never did is the day I knew that was a trap. My dreams a sweet lie! In my world the most beautiful shiuli is trampled in the most brutal manner. And the nights are merciless maybe but they hold the truth and usher the belaboured bodies into the end of uncomfort. I praise the nights today for they don't sham comfort.

  • akankshya7 9w


    Mother very dear mine
    Forgive! for shallow whine
    I've known one since birth,
    You since I knew nation's worth.

    They pierced my heart
    At last my body tore apart
    Had left home mother and wife
    All I could see, my brothers strife.

    I've died and I rue not
    My love didn't know blots
    Cradle my body belaboured,
    Proud I'm I dint die unsung unheard.

  • akankshya7 9w

    Down the lane 28 time stops by to fiddle around and sense stillness.

    #miraquill @heartsease @childauthor_345 @theinkdomain @fromwitchpen #wod #pod

    Read More

    Down the lane28

    It's quite much a sight,
    As I linger long streets.
    Lane 28 but my muse,
    Every street now knows.
    Hundred metres short,
    Takes an hour to stalk.
    Other routes are longer,
    Yet half an hour last.

    The fourth house,
    The sky blue painted.
    My feet stop to glance,
    'Times minute others ten.
    Somedays I rush back,
    Somedays I dally by.
    When I don't see him,
    I gossip with time passing by.

  • akankshya7 9w

    Two stabs no stitches

    I went, professed love
    and then waited in wings
    to disintegrate every way
    you knew to define love.

    I left maybe you wept,
    I care not.
    I left,
    10 o'clock calls dopamine
    lying my mommy
    hiding those letters
    plugging head in cloud
    smiling under a shroud
    drawing flowers
    filling hearts with red hues
    calling people my muse
    flattering people
    talking sweet thinking it polite.

    People write of heartbreaks,
    Mine is a heartache
    None of loosing love
    But guilt of injustice done.

    Nowadays I've left choosing what to be instead I remember things we did and check myself how not to be, strange!

  • akankshya7 9w


    The books in rack
    Sorted to wideness,
    They look non breathing
    Yet they age.

    I dust them in a while
    and cherish quite many,
    The one I fell in love with
    the one I traded for a gift.

    Older they grow
    Finer texts they're,
    Just as me creeping
    To bibliochor of maturity.

    The dust that sits
    On the blue hardcover,
    Epitomizes the senescence