Mug Full of Memories

Here it is yet again, a beautiful and sound poem submitted by one of our guest. Enjoy and share the love…

Submitted by : Lalit Gaur

While slurping my coffee
I am scouring my memories
For those moments
Which I am missing these days
Those endless talks
Those low paced walks
 A naughty whisper in my ear
A chuckle which is oblivious of tear
Every shred of me
Wants this coffee to last longer
Every shred of me
Want some memories,new and stronger


Bear and Grin

So after a long time we received a guest post. We can’t tell you how happy we are on each reception of such lovely creative pieces. Keep sending us your lovely works and enjoy this intriguing poem.

Submitted by : Lalit Gaur
Reach him here.

I saw a reflection in the mirror
I saw someone who is happy and strong
But when I took a closer look
There was something seriously wrong

I saw him pretending
I saw a war going on within
I saw him pretending
I saw him bear and grin

It was written in a lucid way
That his life is becoming grey
I thought due to his innate veracity
Darkness became his eternal necessity
I saw him trying to be brave 
I saw him trying to be knave 

I saw him pretending
I saw a war going on within
I saw him pretending
I saw him bear and grin


Hello Readers!
So here we are again with a guest post. These guest posts encourages us to deliver even better stuff. Enjoy this beautiful piece of poetry.

Submitted By Rahat Farooqi

Those lofty mountains and forests green,
those radiant scenes kiss our hearts

the first ray falls thus,
the cuckoo’s songs caressingly awaken us

the soul is tranquilized by songs of the jhelum,
the breeze moves in a rhythmic manner

the fanatics turn more enthusiastic than they are,
they keep singing to themselves far and far

every object here has a unique quality about it,
every speck here is flawless

the influence of dusk is quite alien,
I wish I would dwell among those lofty mountains

they call it a fragment of heaven,
but I think the heaven is all here

A poem by Wani Ishtiaq

Hello friends,

And today we received a wonderful poem from one of our readers, Wani Ishtiaq. Enjoy this beautiful piece and share the love.

In that eerie ecstasy
Reality blurs out fast
Changing momentarily flare of time
Virtually blocking all senses.
Smouldering the real dreams
Leaving behind hapless ashes
Existing, hoping for a nourisher
They had seen long time ago.
Where the time snails along
In connecting two souls for life
Still, deep down the insiders
All senses stop to fire, waiting.
Let this barely perceptible breeze
Nurture and carry my feeling
To that distant part of mine
Till you change into that wind.
The desperate insider in my core
Waiting for those moments
When you will feel the same
Sweet tinge of that feeling.
The glowing golden curls
Falling from eternity
Shading the beauties beneath
Of the soul so queer.
Beauty spilling along
The innocent curves of visage
Walls of my heart, vibrating
Within beats echo, reverberating.
Sweet voice so luring
Wishing its clatter again and again
Adding to the strangeness
Simmering in core of my heart.
Fallen to the innocence
Flowering from sweet mannerism
Summoning my heart out
Sprouting that feeling




Before I could begin, I would like to share what inspired me to write this post. I recently read a small excerpt about an autistic child who amazed the teachers by his assignment. Students were told to alphabetically arrange few stated words in the answer box. The kid perceived the statement in a way that he arranged each of the alphabets in each word, in alphabetical order, thus intriguing the invigilators to search for an answer which could beat his imagination. And In fact, he was the only one to get an A in the class.

This read intrigued my thinking to learn the fact that Perceptions and acting upon them can impact the way we look upon the journey of life.

Doesn’t perception play a significant role in our lives? Doesn’t it outline our outlook towards it and define our personality? Well, the answer to these questions too depends in the way we perceive them.

Life presents us with obstacles at every step, but it depends on how we recognize it- whether, we take it as a hindrance of failure or a window to success. All of us have a thing in common- Life and its value can be determined by our perception. Just like how an assignment was identified in different ways and affected its execution, to result in varied answers, our life too can be worthwhile if we see our problems as opportunities. This way, we not only influence a positive environment in our life, but propagate the message across many lives.

An optimistic outlook and the zeal to perceive life positively will make one to search contentment in dark sunsets, find happiness enclosed within tears and feel the rays of hope trapped within the cages of depression.

To perceive mirth is
to catch the wings of glee perched
upon the stalks of sadness.





‘Ashu, are you done with your gymming’, Riama shouted out for her brother from the dining area. So, this was her daily routine. Waiting for her brother, Ashutosh, every morning on the dining table playing angry birds on her tab. Ashu was a health freak, punctual in his routine, he would get up at 5 in morning, would go for a jog, and return to burn some more calories in his gymming area. He had it all, a luxurious house, all glittering garlands of life which we sometimes die for. Both of his parents were top notch designers in the industry, ran a successful chain of boutiques in India, and were worked for few production houses so money was never an issue for him. There were other bigger issues.  His gymming area was sybaritic, plasma in front of his treadmill where he was dripping all his sweat, a wall sized window on the back, overlooking the lush green garden in the front. To his right was an exercise bike, an ab blaster near it, a pull up bar facing the window, a rower nearby, a couch also made it to the room, his old early dumbles lay rejected in a corner among the high-tech ones, but they were regularly used by him. Maybe dumbles were his favourite, those old dumbles he never changed, and they were from the bunch of few earlier of his life having a special connection, but those old dumbles may used to think what are we doing in the sea of developed ones, maybe they felt unfit in the sea of fitness, but they were special to him, he would never get rid of them.

He slowly got down of treadmill, reached for a towel and moved towards the window. Soaking all his sweat in the piece of cloth, slowly moving his hands over the six packs he had, on the die for chest of his, looking out , towards the greenness of nature, calmness of environment. It was in stark contrast with his inner self, which was raging to come out, thundering to something new, wanting to be ‘me’, ‘more of myself.’

‘Bro, it’s the limit now. Come down right now’ his thoughts were broken by another call from Riama.

‘Will come in a minute, after a quick bath’ Ashu answered back and moved to his room, adjacent to his gymming are.

After ten minutes he made it to the dining area, all dressed, in his favourite brown t-shirt, and black jeans, his well toned body brimming out of his attire.

‘So what’s to eat today’ he said in his heavy voice.

‘As you said, mixed sprouted pulses, boiled potatoes slightly salted, orange juice or milk, whatever you like. For me sandwiches and coffee, my favourite.’

Meri sehat ka itana dhyan (such concern for my health)’ he said in a flattering manner.

‘Mad or what? Ye sab jaldi ban jata hai that’s why (this all takes too less time in preparation that’s why).’ She said and winked at him.

‘I knew it, my sis and work, two never meeting ends.’ he smiled and began having his breakfast.

‘But then too I at least tried a hand today.’

‘Yup and that’s what I love in you that you love me so much.’

We all love our brothers and sisters. It’s a different kind of bond, a bond with ultimate strength. One which may twist at times but not break .We fight with them, we share our secrets, and we hold their hand at times they dwindle. They are our friend, family and everything. Riama and Ashu shared a special type of bond. Their parents were always engrossed in the page-3 life of theirs, seldom having time for their own pages of life. So they were their own parents, and somehow travelled; holding each other to this phase of life, where things were more clear and they more responsible.

‘Take your car bhai (bro), what is the need of travelling in a bus’ she said concerned.

‘Hmm, ok let’s see, I’ll take a brand a new car out our garage, drive it stylishly over the roads .I’ll look at the outside people staring at me and I’ll stare back at them. All alone I drive to college, and all alone I will drive back. But, tell me one thing, what’s more important, to be stylish and popular or to be happy. I am most happy in that crowded bus crowded with my friends, with those teasing and laughs, and not the loneliness of that car.’

Riama looked at the watch, smiled a bit and said, ‘it’s time for your bus I guess.’

Ashu stood kissed her sis good bye and moved towards the door, but halted. He turned to look at Riama and before he could say anything Riama said ‘I knew you would stop. My brother can never ever forget…..’

‘My cell’ he said cutting her midway and rushed to get his cell.

‘Oh yaah, yes your cell…’ she said in a low voice. ‘Megha, clear the table please’ she called for help.

‘Bye sis, have a great day’ Ashu said coming back.

‘Yup, definitely, I’ll try to have one’ she said and made her way to the room.

Ashu rushed to climb the bus, ‘Hey Sameer, tweeting again.’

‘Hey, look Amelia is following me’

‘Oh wow an unknown foreign girl is following you, great.hey by the way, are you sure that she is a girl at least, like there are many fakes out there.’ He said and laughed.

‘Shut up Ashu’ Sameer said and bus drove further to the next destination.



Wake up! Wake up! Son’ as these words jingled and mingled in the ears of Sameer, his beautiful dream express came to an end, marking the beginning of one another day. Alarm clocks always failed to wake him up. Every day the same story – clock will burst out it’s not so melodious tone, Sameer would try to find it with eyes still dreaming, then a slap on the face of the clock, and here its goes, on the ground, silenced forever.  New day, new clock. Sleeping was something spiritual for him, like it gave him the greatest pleasures of all-time. His mother would always say that sleeping too much will make him lazy, make his brain less efficient but he would hush all such probabilities and would continue his daily-dreamy routine. He loved his dream world, we all do. He was his own master, the creator of his dreams. It was a possible escape door for him, to escape from the harsh realities of life. We all have our escape doors, which we try to find at times of distress, to run away. It does not end the problem, on the contrary it adds to it but this is how we live, or we are made to live.  These doors hide us for some time but the reality has to strike one day, it is destined to. He had his issues, some big issues; the type which cannot be discussed or told. He had to solve them on his own, alone.

‘What mom? Let me sleep.’ He said in his sleep-ish voice. ‘Ya! Ya! Please sleep darling but before that look at the time’ his mom said while sliding away the curtains of his room, letting the eccentric calm rays of sun enter his room. ‘It’s already 8.00, and your college bus will arrive in just 45 minutes. Now sleep soundly’ she added in a sarcastic way.

‘What?’  He exclaimed and sat in astonishment. ‘Its 8.00 already and I am still on bed. Mom you never woke me on time.’ He said and rushed towards the washroom.

‘Oh right! I never do that. I just keep shouting each day for more than two hours and then finally you wake to blame me of not waking you up. Great! Let’s see from tomorrow who wakes you up’ his mom said and moved out of the room.

‘Ok mom we’ll see. I bet I’ll make it tomorrow on my own’ he shouted.

‘Really? You have lost millions of such bets’ her mother shouted back.

This was the normal routine of Mr. Sameer Bakshi, student of IFT, institute of fashion technology, India. He always wanted to be a designer; he loved to play with colours, with shapes and fabric. He felt happy to create a design each day, to create something each moment. He never wanted to be on the conventional path of being an engineer or doctor or MBA like most Indians do. He wanted to try his hand out in something new, something of his own choice. He always thought that he would have literally died doing engineering, physics, chemistry, maths never proved to be his meal on the platter. Tall, fair and healthy (not hunky), he sometimes thought to be a fashion model, but soon realised that there are better ones out there. His mother, a homemaker, always supported him. His father, a banking official, wanted his son to be an engineer, maybe not for the sake of a good job or something, only because it would have been a privilege to brag about his engineer son around his folks.  But his dream grounded as Sameers’s decision sprouted. His mother was the key reason that his dad agreed, as he loved her truly and could not see her leave their house, those emotional tricks of Indian mom, you know. So finally he ended up in a fashion institute, with gorgeous girls and smart hunks, in the race of being a designer.

It was already 8:26 as he walked out of his room, all set in his black t-shirt and blue jeans and his favourite axe effect.

‘Morning dad’ he said as he made his way to the dining table, his dad peeping him from the corners of his daily. He sat in an adjacent chair of his dad, and waited for his meal.

‘Mom, again these paranthas (an Indian snack made of flour), you know I prefer something light in the morning. It’s all oily you know’

‘Shut up and look at you. You have lost so much weight; have some solid meal beta (son).’

He reluctantly grabbed one and began eating. He knew he can never win from his mom, he never wanted to.

The silence of the moment was broken by the honking bus. He was the first who the bus picked up. He stood quickly, got his bag, and rushed towards the main door. ‘Bye mom’ he said and closed the door behind him.

He said nothing to his dad; he knew it would not have an effect on him. From the very day he enrolled himself in this college, the ties between them loosened. They chatted seldom, that too on formal issues. He was his mom’s child, too deeply attached to her, open and frank.

He climbed the empty bus and took his lappy out, logged in twitter and tweeted, ‘another day, another way, and for all of you, a hey‼’