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Cacophony of Fruits: A Dialogue Between Tongue and Ghost
In this poetic odyssey, the fruits we taste become portals into memory, rebellion, intimacy, and grief. A surreal dialogue unfolds between the self and its shadow—between the you who bites and the you who remembers. Five fruits. Two tongues. One hunger.
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Eyes and the Vacant Room #poetry
A vacant room, a steady gaze—yet nothing feels empty. You and I become breath and rhythm, silence and softness. A soulful dance of presence and peace unfolds in a space where everything unsaid is understood.
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The Room Where All Meet #poetry
You were never just one person. You were possibility. You were the metaphor that never needed explanation. And we—me, her, him, they, you— we became the unfinished sentence you whispered into our ribs.
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The Echo of the Loudest Lie(a poetry in one breath of fire) #poetry
In a visceral blend, I explore the tension between belief, disillusionment, and dissent. A response to the question, “What public figure do you disagree with the most?”, it is a lyrical confrontation of power, propaganda, and personal reckoning.
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#IndiaFightsPropaganda: MIB’s Strategic Counter to Cross-Border Misinformation
In response to rising disinformation from Pakistan-based accounts, the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting (MIB) has launched the #IndiaFightsPropaganda campaign. The digital initiative aims to counter fake narratives, strengthen national security, and promote fact-based public discourse across India’s online space.
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What is My Career Plan? (a poetic conversation between selves and shadows) #poetry
Let me tell you what I told the mirror this morning: I plan to dance in libraries and scream into spreadsheets. To file dreams alphabetically— A for anarchist, B for barefoot, C for catastrophe curator. I will not climb your ladder (it looks too much like a gallows in disguise). Instead, I’ll grow sideways like…
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The Curtain Remembers More Than We Do #poetry
I swore I saw you bite your lip when the fog machine coughed. I swore I felt your pulse rise in my neck. it wasn’t a play. not really. not a concert, either. it was something between gesture and ghost, an offering that never learned to bow.
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Porous Acts: Becoming Community #poetry #BeTheCommunity #WhatIsCommunity
In mismatched socks and half-knitted compassion, I did not volunteer—I dissolved into the rhythm of others. What it means to be community, not through speeches or banners, but by showing up, soup in hand, and eyes wide open.
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404: Love Not Found #poetry
Your tape wore thin, but I digitized desire. {error.log: love.exe failed to compile} {AI: Did you mean ‘loop’ or ‘loss’?}
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I Kiss the Letters You Forgot to Write #poetry
I tried to unlove you in lowercase, but even the periods begged for ellipses.
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