Down The Shore

Down the shore, away from the uproar, The sand welcomes you to its story. Down the shore, free from your chores, You too are lured to revel in its golden glory. The fine beads camouflage a million mysteries; Yet relishing a handful of histories. No matter how hard the waves may crash, The boulders stay, and the pebbles bash! The ripples remain resolute though, Clashing ceaselessly in its flow. Down the shore, behind the door, Where does the sea hide its secret? Down the shore, confiding its score, Maybe the sea did trust, with no fret The playful eyes of the boy speaks of it, Trudging along the lane, hiding his tit-bits! Faithfully, he listens to the shell, Whispering the tales from heaven and hell; Of times far and wide, long-forgotten Safe in the shell, that was so far down-trodden. © Rashmi Sharma Mathematics Honors (1st Year)

Toy Tale

 

The glass is not of help these days,

sharp glare and heat catches my bottom,

a lad in juvenility punches and plays,

grand pains for fight back is the only nostrum.

 

Today, a little cool and trickle, dark and cloudy,

Pray, why? A junkie is in a violent mood,

She strains my nose too absent-mindedly,

Meditation she needs, novacaine and food.

 

The help is here, not even dawn yet,

Dust and webs are dancing in the air,

Lacerating it is, my body aches, her mind is set,

Blow, strike and wash away, here to ensnare.

 

See the chair, the watch a tad groggy-eyed, trills,

Bored he sits and spits, yawns and spits,

“The door is there, open it if you will”,

pokes, strokes his ’47, his hand flits,

 

a hundred conversant eyes all surround,

entrenched and deep in admiration of self,

furry, rotund, cuddly and redound,

no time to observe, all for a nisus,

 

“Holy Christ!” What a gem to have visited,

subtle stride, curious eyes, impeachable skin, so roomy,

a definite halo, rotgut incense, and a royal bid,

my love billows, be your blancmange?

 

© Jatin Sehgal

Statistics Honors (2nd Year)

Why I write a poem

When a perspective outstands
to make me think of its nuances
generating a doubt
over genuinity of vision
if it’s truly mine
or of some intellectual I have read
eventually leaving me impressed
by myself, being convinced I own it
and that it’s nowhere else
in the poetic minds;
and makes me desperate
to freeze the perspective
like a photograph,
I write a poem.

©Aditya Nayak

Political Science Hons (1st Year)

I Am Born

I am born to your anxiety,

Like a voluptuous slither of passion.

I am born from your visions,

Like an awakening for posterity.

See the light,

Can you kiss me?

Lust for the numbness never ends.

See the death

Coated in my sleeves,

Do you wish an eternal death?

I was born to cheat,

To swallow your evils whole.

I was born to conceive,

Your crimes, I deny.

In the whispers of moving waters,

For mermaids without fairy tales.

I am your phantom of myths,

Carried to your grave.

©Priyanka Kapoor

English Hons (1st Year)