He held my hand at first spark,  
Guided me through worlds gone dark.  

Shielded me from lies that bite,  
Kept me safe from jealous spite.  

He chose my voice to light the flame,  
From whispered truths to halls of fame.  

Man and beast have cursed His name,  
Yet none can dull His boundless flame.  

You’ve met Him—so have I,  
Jesus, Lord of earth and sky.

Human:
Why do you hide in the scream of a hurricane?
My roof is gone. My hands are raw from clawing at the dark.
If you’re there—speak .

God:
I am the eye of the storm, still as a held breath.
Your chaos is the chisel carving your soul into a cathedral.

Human:
You let the innocent drown in silence.
I’ve counted their tears—each one a star you didn’t catch.
Where’s the mercy in gravity?

God:
I am the gravity that pulls their light home.
Every star you mourn is a lantern hung in my sky.

Human:
I built a shrine of questions.
The incense is doubt. The offering, my fractured faith.
Do you feast on scraps?

God:
I feast on the hunger itself.
The altar is your doubt—it’s where I kneel.

Human:
You’re a ghost in the machine, a glitch in the grief.
I traced your name in the frost—it melted.
Was it ever real?

God:
I am the thaw. The water. The root.
The seed you buried in anger blooms anyway.

Human:
I rage at the silence.
My fists bruise the sky. The void just swallows the echoes.
Are you the void?

God:
I am the echo. The bruise. The answer
that sounds like a question but burns like a sun.

Human:
You let the wolf devour the lamb.
The meek inherit the mud. The prophets choke on their own words.
What’s holy in that?

God:
The lamb’s blood waters the soil where mercy grows.
The wolf’s hunger is my liturgy.
Even the mud holds the imprint of my hands.

Human:
I lit a candle for you.
The wick drowned in its own wax.
Do you mock my small fires?

God:
I am the smoke that carries your flame to the stars.
The snuffed wick is a bridge, not an end.

Human:
You’re a rumor in the rubble.
A half-remembered hymn hummed by the homeless.
Why no proof?

God:
Proof is the prison.
I am the wind that tears down walls so you can breathe.

Human:
I buried my father in a suit of prayers.
The earth didn’t even tremble.
Do you sleep through our funerals?

God:
I am the tremor in the seed he planted.
The roots are laughing in the dark.

Human:
You let the addict bleed in the gutter.
The needle’s hymn louder than psalms.
Where’s the redemption?

God:
I am the needle’s shadow. The vein’s map.
The blood sings a river back to the source.

Human:
I stacked my sorrows into a tower.
It leans like a drunkard.
Is your grace a joke?

God:
I am the lean. The stumble. The ground that catches you.
The tower is my spine.

Human:
You let the mother burn her own child for bread.
The ash tastes like betrayal.
What god hides in hunger?

God:
I hide in the hunger. The ash. The bread.
The child’s cry is my own voice, split open.

Human:
I traced your face in the dirt.
The rain washed it away.
Was it ever there?

God:
I am the rain. The dirt. The tracing.
The face you seek is the hand that holds the brush.

Human:
You’re a phantom in the fever, a lie in the lesion.
The doctors say cells , but I scream soul .
Which is the delusion?

God:
I am the fever that purges the lie.
The lesion is a window. Look through.

Human:
I built a god from my rage.
He had my teeth, my fists, my father’s voice.
Was that you?

God:
I am the rage. The teeth. The voice.
Even your fists are my hands, shaping the void.

Human:
You let the world rot.
The saints gag on their halos.
What’s sacred in decay?

God:
Decay is the womb of the sacred.
The rot is where I plant my light.

Human:
I am a scream with no echo.
A question with no tongue.
A doubt with no bottom.
Do you hear me?

God:
I am the echo. The tongue. The bottom.
You are the canyon where my voice becomes a river.

Human:
Then why does it hurt so much?

God:
Because you’re alive.
Pain is my alphabet.
You’re finally learning to read.

We’ve clicked zero photos, Motu
Not a single frame to freeze us in pixels,
No smiling selfie, no captured chai cup,
No picture to prove we were ever “us.”

But what is proof, when da soul remembers?
When da eyes hold stories no lens can capture,
When silences between us have said more
Than any caption ever could.

We are a friendship without filters,
A story written in whispers,
And not crafted for timelines
We are da invisible thread, Krishna tied
Without needing flash or filters.

We fought…yes!!!
More than we should’ve.
I don’t know whose nazar passed over our bond
But I know it’s not stronger than what we’ve built.

You say this equation is difficult…
I agree.
But I also know da rarest bonds…
Are never easy to explain,
They are only meant to be felt!!!

Motu, I might be flawed,
But my intentions, they’re sacred.
Like temple bells at dawn,
Like verses whispered in Vrindavan’s breeze.

I didn’t come to this course to find anyone…
But I found you!!!
And that’s the twist in da story
My biggest gift wrapped in an unwanted journey.

So yes, we’ve clicked zero photos.
But we’ve lived a thousand moments.
Moments that breathe in my notebooks,
Moments tucked between lectures and lingering glances,
Moments scribbled in blue ink on your kurta,
Moments that feel more real than any frozen frame.

Ours is not a story for Instagram.
It’s a sacred secret shared between
A boy who fumbled with words
And a girl who saw right through da silence.

And someday, when life scatters us like paper boats,
When people ask me… Do you have a photo of her?
I’ll smile softly and say,
No… but I have everything else.
                                                                               By:- Kanishk Baghel

Sapphic Sovereignty
Divine Feminine calling
Answer Her, Angel

faint divine sun dances
between trees and branches
falling upon my fig tree
open my rib, set my heart free.

~and all our fingers,
all our veins,
each are branches of a mission.
and with life we wrinkle,
with age we sacrifice fertile freedom. enlightment keeps us alive
like the nurturing water.
but immortality?
fig is the fruit of realization, as golden wisdom rays bless you, forever.
immortality is
in the wisdom of mysteries.~

fig is a wise man
sitting on a vast, ancient land.
his eyes seem to find something,
in the secrets mist held.

~and you search
all fountains,
all cups,
yet you found it in a lake.
and never,
never so immortal you were,
so thirsty for truth.
fig blessed you,
like the early morning sun rays.
your heart was never so exposed, never so ******,
never so touched...~

under her fig tree.

There comes a hush with grumbling, rumbling sound—
Through skies, from highest clouds of charcoal gray,
While forest drapes like maiden's debut gown,
On swelling winds—a taste of dampened hay,
As jasmines shiver, full of haste and play,
The buttercups then blend in bluebell fields,
While parched earth, in thirst, to heavens pray,
The water lilies bloom, and lotus shield,  
While gardenia and tuberose nectar yield.

Those armored hermits peek above, so sly,
While wrigglers writhe from homes beneath the ground,
And quiet buzzards—silent shelters seek,
The red and tiny soldiers surround
Their hill before the floods come crashing down.
There goes the sun to hide behind the clouds,
Like shyest child behind her mother's gown.
The clouds eclipse the sky like mountain's shroud,
How I have waited long—for petrichor, thy crown!

The first then falls—so delicate this drop,
Like chiming choir of creation, its fall,
So, earth then sighs its prayer in backdrop.
Like divine dance of Lord from heaven's ball,
To fill the world as seraph's colours, fall.
The peacocks twirl in iridescent trance,
While swallows dive and egrets skim and roll.
Like scattered jewels, shooting down to prance,
The first of vernal rain bestows a second chance.

At drip-a-drop they form a symphony—
Like rolling sheets of highest paradise
Conjoined the deepest hells invisibly.
For once, then twice, and lastly falling thrice
In festive thrum of fervent drums, they rise.
Like sapphires falling down from onyx sheets
Of darkened skies, so measureless in price.
The merchant clouds to earthly rivers greet
And ply the blue and pearly wares from angel's fleet

Like clouds, the puddles spread across the land,
The sky's reflection cast upon the earth,
These puddles overflow as bubbling bands
And streams like argent ribbons, gurgling mirth
That stitch themselves from flash of thunder's lurch,
Like melting hymns upon the mount and vales,
And washing tales from stones about the dearth.
Then sleeping beasts so churn across the dales,
Like witches' inky cauldron full of silent wails.

In every sacred corner of thy hall,
The Cup-bearer waits, to heed thy call.
For in the chalice of eternal grace,
The thirst of souls finds its resting place.

A single drop within these yearning eyes,
Carries the truth that never fades or dies.
Within thy glance, both gentle and wise,
I see the realms where spirit and form rise.

The sacred cup, which bids the soul to soar,
Holds wisdom deep, from life's eternal core.
Thy glance, like dawn, dispels the night’s dark veil,
And calls the heart to its destined trail.

O’ Cup-bearer, whose touch awakens the mind,
In every sip, the universe we find.
The world, in drunken dreams, takes fleeting flight,
Yet all it seeks is the hidden light.

For in thy gaze, the soul's true purpose gleams,
Beyond the shadowed world of fleeting dreams.
O’ seeker, drink, and let thy heart expand,
For in this cup lies the eternal land.