I left the book open last night,the lamp gave up before I could write.The page still waits there,with my pen in the air;some stories refuse to ignite.- Neha Sharma Continue reading

I bought some mangoes today,one sweet, one sour in its way.I ate them alone,but somehow was shown,your laughter still spills into May.- Neha Sharma Continue reading

The fan kept circling slow,as if it had nowhere to go.Round after round,just carrying sound,I think it knows something I don’t know.- Neha Sharma Continue reading

The lift doors closed on their own,I stood there, quietly alone.It rose, then came back,its patience intact;the kind I have never been shown.- Neha Sharma Continue reading

My mother stacked books till the ceiling grew tall,a forest of paper that swallowed the wall.Some conversed of kingdoms, some thundered of wars,others spoke gently through half-hidden drawers.Some stories were riddles, some heavy as stone,some laughed with a child, some grieved all alone.Hope didn’t live in fate or in chance,but in books that awaited my… Continue reading

I have been rewriting the dictionary in my quiet hours,where words slip from their rags into brighter flowers.The sad words that once wore coats of grey, now wear yellow scarves in a lighter way.broken lets light slip by the cracks in its skin,reminding us that beauty always glows from within.betrayal still stings, is a mirror… Continue reading

If you were a paper boat and I were too, we’d sail where the sky spills its silver hue.Not knowing the shores that might come to greet, we’d let the wind choose which paths our bows meet.Made from pages of different tales we’ve known, still stitched by the same soft wrinkle of home.Your folds from… Continue reading

There’s a room in my house that nobody visits.Not even me.It’s just there—quiet, undecorated, almost anonymous. But sometimes, passing by, I glance inside and see a chair perfectly at ease in its own company.It sits the way some people do, after years of knowing themselves—arms loose, open, restful like turning away from noise. The ceiling… Continue reading

When light touches your skin, it is already eight minutes and twenty seconds old.Which means, by the time you felt warm, the warmth had already begun its journey.Because sunlight takes 8 minutes and 20 seconds to reach Earth, travelling at 300,000 km/second, crossing 150 million kilometres just to arrive quietly on your skin.And you, call… Continue reading

Today, everything is brown.The sky wears a coat of wet cardboard, creases folding softly into clouds.Light filters through like old film; sepia, dust-kissed, like a memory sketched in condensation. The air smells like the earth after rain.Not like the first splash, but the hush, the whisper of belonging between the soil and clouds.The leaves? They… Continue reading