For their ink is not ink, but the distilled venom of memory.
They will etch your name upon the black tablets of time,
where even the rain cannot wash it away
and the centuries will taste it like iron on the tongue.
This is no mere revenge
it is the curse of the storyteller,
and I, child of the witch,
have mastered it.

Dear God,
I don’t come here much and maybe it’s too late.
But I can’t carry this silence anymore.

I obsess over the smallest things
until they grow teeth and tear at my mind.
I should be living, enjoying,
but instead I choose the comfort of hanging by threads,
watching my self-worth burn and calling it home.

I pretend I don’t care what anyone thinks,
but that’s the farthest thing from the truth.
I care so much it hurts
and yet my pride locks my mouth shut.

Please fix me.
Because I don’t know who I’ll be if I’m happy and that terrifies me more than the pain I live in.
Happiness feels wrong in my skin,
like I’m wearing someone else’s life.

I have memories I won’t speak of.
Traumas that claw at my sleep.
People I avoid,
family I can’t face.
Words I wish I could take back.
Things I’ve done to others,
things I’ve done to myself,
and parts of me I am not ready to repair.

I’ll admit I’m lonely,
but I won’t admit I need help.
I am losing hope,
and before I do something I can’t undo
please, God
Teach me to live,
to live for real.
Not just to survive.
Not just to exist.

Two souls apart from all the crowd,
in love and hate, both fierce and proud.
Through beauty’s light and sorrow’s rain,
we cling through joy, we cling through pain.

For in thine eyes, my truth I know,
and neither heart will let it go.
Thine eyes hold truths no stars could hide,
a mirror deep where my heart abides.

No chain of earth, no hand of time,
could break the bond that makes thee mine.
We keep this fire, this hallowed whole—
and drink forever from each other’s soul.

...

While your soul writhes in unrest.
Cursed be he who walks away,
forgetting the bond, never once looking back.
Should he return, trust him not
for hearts that dared the darkness
will return clad in masks not their own.

Cursed in the religion of the Most Gracious
is he who imprisons a people,
who strangles a thought in its cradle,
who lifts the whip over flesh,
who silences the tongue of truth,
who builds walls to cage the living,
who raises high the banners of tyranny.

Cursed in every creed and scripture
is he who squanders the rights of humankind,
even if his lips murmur prayers,
even if his hands scatter alms,
even if he walks the earth
clutching the Bible in one hand
and the Qur’an in the other.

We think we're saving us.
Saving humanity
through
technology.
Convenience we think,
is of utmost importance.
And through that very convenience,
we lose ourselves.
True intelligence
in trade for
the artificial.
The greatest feats of humanity
imitated in mere seconds.
Art.
Literature,
Paintings,
Expression,
All consumed
by the raging desire
for convenience.
How much further must we fall
before realization
strikes the tree of ignorance,
revealing its roots
that bleed with the ink of true creativity?

Pragmatic.
Postive.
Fun.

This is what the world asks of him.

A boy, who is cloaked in evil, fear,
And toxicity.

He decided his heart was too fragile
Too human

To give it a chance to be seen.

His emotions dance around his mind,
and back and forth they bicker..
what is safe?
What do I want?
What should I do?

And the boy is confused,
Alone.

Behind his cloak he is human.

But human means pain. Failure.

Like a droplet of rain, disguising itself in the dirt as mud.
Disgusting, and avoided he remains

but to guard his insides, which are so clear,
so vulnerable.

His shadow holds his secrets, his tears and constant jitters.

It knows his weakness, and his lies,
though he cannot get rid of it.
He can’t run from himself.

The boy weeps behind shade
The boy yells in closed rooms
He hides

And hides.

But everything always catches up to him.

Pragmatic.
Positive.
Fun.

This is what they want him to be.

And so in defiance, he is evil among other things.

Angry.
Jealous.
Dark.

Dead.

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!!

A piece of mine, that looks so fine,
Yet I never mattered in the fragile line.
Let them paint me cruel, unworthified-
A villain crafted by their own design.

They tell the tail in the black and white,
While casting shadows in the light.
But I just want to say goodbye-
No exit applause, no final bow, no crowd-defined.

I murdered myself to end this night,
Just to see you happy, see you smile
-even the cloud cloud feel it right.
I'm not wrong, I was cast as the  villain,
Because it's easier to call you divine.

The truth unfolds, still lost in time,
And maybe it's simpler-
To be the villain than explain what's behind.

By Vedanta Anagha (Mayank Tripathi)