Why sadness isn’t what we evangelise about, when we know that is what the path of our life is capable of bestowing to us. Why persistently entertaining the thought of harboring happiness in our way and not appreciating sadness which provides us shade like all those trees on the endless road. Maybe being thankful for all the sadness is the way of deciphering the biggest of problems. -k.m.


What if, after the last sleep.. our souls awake, mindlessly wandering in the air, looking upon the people they left behind, watching their true bare colors, their intentions and feelings exposed. -k.m.

​As the world celebrates Valentine’s day,

Her mind still follows that same black ray.

Greeting her all time valentine’s is her daily chore,

But today her date is a little pure and sore.

Like always, her connoisseur, her date, shows up a little hazy, little vivid,

She bestows him roses, they be the most dainty cupid.

For her date are her thoughts, her words the roses,

On their rendezvous at the writer’s platform she poses.

As the world celebrates Valentine’s day,

Every single writer still follows that same black ray.


Heart to heart connection is what I desire,

You connected to my soul, leaving me befanged to admire.
True love is what I desire,

You love me piously, leaving me befanged to admire.
Stairing at the glorious beauty of sunrise with you is what I desire,

You give me permanent beauteous face of yours, leaving me befanged to admire.
Someone like you is what I desire,

You submit your deep true self unto me, leaving me befanged to admire.
And I love you.



​Locked up in the coffin and casket,

this love’s irremidiable,

Wandering with a taboo’s maskette.

This love’s amiable.
Easy on the eye,

Yet this love’s tried to be tamed.

Trying to imprision its very sigh,

This love’s tried to be damped.
Bottle it up and it’ll enslave you,

Throw it down in the spirals of tornado it’ll victor even the storms,

love erupt and subside, emerging on its own to be true.

So let’s make the day harbour love in all winsome forms.
Let there be no Pink, red or blue in our way, 

Let’s make our pen bleed in rainbow colours today.



​I chaw down the fire,

And make my way up to the sun.

On the way Cannibalising the lire,

Guzzling the sky and giving it a turn.
Yon horned moon comes up,

With the esoteric stars lighting its way.

I sink my teeth in the overflowing cup,

Smack my lips on the taste of every ray.
I bathe in tar to dismay any streak of colour,

Dye my soul to waxy white evil dark.

Treacherous ambience elevating my valour,

Vindicating me swiftly from the light’s cark.
They say, “you are  a dexterous beast, filled with badness.”

I say, ” I am the devil attracted to darkness.”



​They are the blue tinted with pink too,

The rainbow flag holding their pride up through.

Waving free and high up in the air,

Symbolizer of the community we try to impair.
Clash between blue and pink shall continue,

But on the fierceness of ours they act like Mollifieng drops of dew.

An invigorating connecting bridge to our bipolar society,

Is the Lesibian’s gay’s Bisexual’s transgender’s community.
We aren’t tuned to a perfect rhythm ourselves,

Then who are we to pause their charade that rings essential bells.

Let Gay pride be our pride.

An essential gear to our society’s ride.
It betwattles me, for the subject how shallow we be,

That to support the humanity, pillars are not two but three.

                 -Kashish Mendiratta


​Tears that never flow,

That fire in the belly that everglows.

Smile that never fades,

With you, my dexterous hade.
Cheeks that rearely blush,

You shoot up the blood flow in your rush.

Eyes that always blink,

You obstruct them, with your footstep’s clink.
Words that I whisper inside,

In your presence, they get petrified.

And so now the words I sew pass a cue,

There’s an obdurate affect of whatever you do.
What’s mine, is what’s never conveyed,

One sided love, a fervent frail bade.


​I may not be what the ocean is to  moon,

And I may not be what water is to a person whose about to swoon.

I may not be what ink is to pen,

And I may not be what zero is to ten.
I may not be what rain is to a rainbow,

And I may not be what high is to low.

I may not be what words are to a verse,

And I may not be what anger is to a curse.
I may not be what lullaby is to to sleep,

And I may not be what fear is to leap.

I may be what blue is to yellow, not affecting its being,

But I may help you in forming a perfect green.
My wit maybe very small to give you any worthy advice,

But will lend you my ear forever that’ll listen even when your voice dies.