srishti - Hello Poetry

I am just another girl whose wing feathers are being pulled out one by one, day by day. They give me education— not to see me rise, but to prove I am “worthy” for a marriage test. These walls scream in the silence of night. The room whispers, this is your freedom. A little girl sits in a cage, shaking, trembling— watching her own dreams collapse without a sound. No one ever held my hand and said, you can go.

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Mar 29

Mar 29, 2026 at 5:42 AM UTC

Plucked Before Flight

I am just another girl whose wing feathers are being pulled out one by one, day by day. They give me education— not to see me rise, but to prove I am “worthy” for a marriage test. These walls scream in the silence of night. The room whispers, this is your freedom. A little girl sits in a cage, shaking, trembling— watching her own dreams collapse without a sound. No one ever held my hand and said, you can go.

19

I was born with an ornament — you say I am smart enough to make someone understand. It seems like a present, but it’s a sin. Nobody was with me to see my tears. Soon the pillow carried all the pain and screaming. Yet it’s still too hard to say I am weak — an ornament you believe is strong and smart enough to understand everything. Nobody ever hugged me or asked, “Say your problems, I am with you.”

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Dec 3, 2025

Dec 3, 2025 at 4:52 AM UTC

Invisible ornament

I was born with an ornament — you say I am smart enough to make someone understand. It seems like a present, but it’s a sin. Nobody was with me to see my tears. Soon the pillow carried all the pain and screaming. Yet it’s still too hard to say I am weak — an ornament you believe is strong and smart enough to understand everything. Nobody ever hugged me or asked, “Say your problems, I am with you.”

18

Men, men, go away, Don’t come again… anyway. A little girl just wants to play— Men, men, go away.

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Nov 26, 2025

Nov 26, 2025 at 7:04 PM UTC

Men

Men, men, go away, Don’t come again… anyway. A little girl just wants to play— Men, men, go away.

4

Storm, storm — have you ever beat a cheetah? With a thunderous roar, Both start a race, And reach the end at the same time. Their victims have No words to describe them.

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Oct 16, 2025

Oct 16, 2025 at 4:03 AM UTC

RACE

Storm, storm — have you ever beat a cheetah? With a thunderous roar, Both start a race, And reach the end at the same time. Their victims have No words to describe them.

6

A heavy, orphan black cloud took shelter in my heart. It called itself my master, and I became its slave. When it whipped the rain, my eyes answered with showers. Then, a red hibiscus bloomed in my hair — and the cloud vanished, as if it had never been, or found another heart to haunt.

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Aug 11, 2025

Aug 11, 2025 at 10:43 AM UTC

The Red Spirit.

A heavy, orphan black cloud took shelter in my heart. It called itself my master, and I became its slave. When it whipped the rain, my eyes answered with showers. Then, a red hibiscus bloomed in my hair — and the cloud vanished, as if it had never been, or found another heart to haunt.

11

Some say poetry is just a war between dark and good — but only a poet knows the weight of every single letter. Maybe not today, not tomorrow, but one day a soul will picture the boulder that language carries. Poetry can’t be just black and white; it is a prism, reflecting a whole family of colors.

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Aug 8, 2025

Aug 8, 2025 at 1:22 PM UTC

The Prism of Words

Some say poetry is just a war between dark and good — but only a poet knows the weight of every single letter. Maybe not today, not tomorrow, but one day a soul will picture the boulder that language carries. Poetry can’t be just black and white; it is a prism, reflecting a whole family of colors.

17

The silence of humans has always questioned me— Are we something rare, too rare to find another? Why do we feel so complete— did the cosmos welcome us? Are we creations, toys, experiments... or simply what we are?

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Aug 2, 2025

Aug 2, 2025 at 11:18 AM UTC

Adopted by the Cosmos

The silence of humans has always questioned me— Are we something rare, too rare to find another? Why do we feel so complete— did the cosmos welcome us? Are we creations, toys, experiments... or simply what we are?

9

took a look at amiable to be victim of despair core concealed blue shivering soul apprehension fever

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Jul 27, 2025

Jul 27, 2025 at 3:43 PM UTC

The poetry never wrote

took a look at amiable to be victim of despair core concealed blue shivering soul apprehension fever

6

Every elder daughter is an assassin — of the child inside her, of the dreams she once saw, of the happiness she deserved, of the weakness she was allowed to have, of the little girl who was immature, of the feelings she had, of the fear she hid, and of herself.

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Jul 20, 2025

Jul 20, 2025 at 3:25 AM UTC

Who is a real assassin?

Every elder daughter is an assassin — of the child inside her, of the dreams she once saw, of the happiness she deserved, of the weakness she was allowed to have, of the little girl who was immature, of the feelings she had, of the fear she hid, and of herself.

26

Simultaneously, a drop of time fell on a barren land. goes on… goes on… created a pond. goes on… goes on… created a lake. goes on… goes on… created half a sea. goes on… goes on… created an ocean. goes on… goes on… created a planet. goes on… goes on… created a galaxy. goes on… goes on… created millions of galaxies. goes on… goes on… created a universe. goes on… goes on… created uncountable universes… goes on… goes on… And still, it goes on…

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Jul 17, 2025

Jul 17, 2025 at 5:25 AM UTC

Just a drop

Simultaneously, a drop of time fell on a barren land. goes on… goes on… created a pond. goes on… goes on… created a lake. goes on… goes on… created half a sea. goes on… goes on… created an ocean. goes on… goes on… created a planet. goes on… goes on… created a galaxy. goes on… goes on… created millions of galaxies. goes on… goes on… created a universe. goes on… goes on… created uncountable universes… goes on… goes on… And still, it goes on…

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