My mind’s a 24/7 newsroom,breaking panic, coming soon.Headlines read, You messed up again!It’s both the anchor and the weatherman.The forecast says cloudy with a chance of doubt,with scattered thoughts all hanging out.Confidence called, saying, “Can’t today.”Overthinking’s working overtime anyway.Yes, my brain’s a browser, twelve tabs wide,one plays music I can’t find.Another’s buffering future fears,rest just… Continue reading

She wore a practiced grin,so did he, tucked in.Both afraid to show,the ache below;and called it discipline.- Neha Sharma Continue reading

Today, I’m not trying to get anywhere.The sidewalk outside the café is warm enough to hold me.The chair tilts back a little like a tender sigh.Steam rises from the cup, curling like a slow thought.The noise and the footsteps fade into a blur around me.My mind slips out of its cage, drifting past lists, clocks,… Continue reading

Dear Dead Writers,You must’ve written as if your words would circle only your own people, as if your sentences belonged to the time you lived in.How could you have known that one day they would travel through wars, through oceans, slip past flags and accents, through tongues you never heard…and find me? You did not… Continue reading

For all of the books I have read,reality dances ahead.It trips through the rain,it laughs at my brain,and rewrites the lines in my head.- Neha Sharma Continue reading

She is fire in silence, a storm in porcelain;she shields those she loves, though her guard lets wolves in.She carries their burdens, she bleeds when they fall,she gathers her sorrows and cradles them all.She trusts the mirages that shimmer, then fade;she misses the kind faces that never betrayed.Her lantern burns steady, yet she covers its… Continue reading

The train is the one in a hurry tonight,the houses stay rooted, politely upright.Each window is a frame of a halted little play,a kitchen, a curtain, a child with her clay.They say it’s the world that rushes on by,but the world never moves, it just watches the sky.It’s us with our luggage of deadlines and… Continue reading

There once was a crowd chanting “Same!”where safety had smothered the flame;The braver reply was a small, honest “why,”And not trading yourself for acclaim.- Neha Sharma Continue reading

To love is to gather the things left unsaid,the grief they buried, the tears they bled.The laughter they hid in the quietest room,small joys that still blossom against their gloom.The storms in their family that contoured their night,the knots they untangle before dawn’s light.You inherit the lessons their failures revealed,scars they shouldered, the weight they… Continue reading

A boy at the bus stop held tight,his father’s hand all through the night.I lowered my eyes,but memory reminds;I once held a hand just as right.- Neha Sharma Continue reading