"arora" poems
Amongst alien places and alien faces,
Where familiarity had no traces,
In the scorching sun, still feeling cold,
Falling down and having nobody to hold,
My fears untold ,I had a fake smile,
I secretly shed a tear , every once in a while,
I longed to be independent of those chains of misery,
Little did I know , that was my key to be free,
My key to step out of my cocoon,
My chance to touch the stars and the moon,
My chance to start a brand new tale,
I had no one to judge me even when I fail,
I failed and I failed but I knew I would sail,
You won't feel pleasure if you haven't seen pain,
Trust me , the struggle never goes in vain,
I met the kind of people, I didn't even know exist,
I felt good about the opportunities I hadn't missed,
I thought I had a terrible life , but I was wrong,
The struggle stays for a bit , but the pleasure period is long,
I looked back , from where I started,
From where me and my comfort parted,
And the transformation in me brought tears in my eyes,
I had finally achieved victory, the new me, was my prize ,
It was the best feeling I had ever felt ,
I went to my Mom and down I knelt,
I thanked her for sending me away,
And I thanked her again, everyday.
-Aastha Arora
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 12:14 PM UTC
They attacked her in mid exploration
Cutting away her golden thoughts
As they cut away her flesh, destroying
A mind that they couldn’t destroy in
Debate, a sparkling old woman
Whose thoughts were spun from steel.
The screaming mob desecrated her tiny form
Dragging it into the dust, through the *******
And **** Tearing off her clothes
The Parabalani exposed her to celestial winds crossing
The arora, rubbing
Spoilt Alexandrian soil into her unexplored ******
She did not die as a philosopher, calculating and
Learning, but, torn apart, the old woman
Screamed out for her father,
Terrified, in sacrificial pain so much worse
Than beheadings and crucifixion. Her modesty,
Kept for 60 years, mutilated by a 1000 killers in a single
Minute.
Her head bounced in the forum,
Her arms thrown to the 4 corners,
Her soul stamped into the gutter,
As the new religion cried out for tolerance.
In a morning thinking became forbidden
Books burnt, laughs ignored and fires built for heretics.
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 6:13 PM UTC
A girl who is hoping to be with me,
Theming all her poetry around me,
Unable I am to reflect her feelings,
Lose I did myself in my past lover.
Love her I did that bit too much,
Of her decisions I was an abider,
Vainly are all the sacrifices I made,
Except only when unavoidable,
Did I ever ignore her? I did not.
Killed me she with her love and deceit,
Remain just the memories of her,
I let my mind linger in past,
Pleasured I am by her memories,
I just cannot once again take chances.
And I will just live with her memories,
Not that I consider myself so worse,
Desist I will from marriage all my life.
I am so scared of loving anyone else,
Slowly I watch my days running out.
Now I will never be uncertain,
Of course I would be sans fear,
What scares me would be past.
Scientist I want to become for real,
Concentrate I will more on career,
And her memories won't plague,
Romance I will with myself more,
Elephantine will be my happiness,
Dress rehearsals I do for success.
Old memories will not haunt me,
Finally I'll be one with happiness.
Last desire of my heart,
Of course won't be fullfilled,
Very sure because I am lonely,
Enjoy I'll this eternal loneliness.
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 4:27 AM UTC
My sun in human form! I come alive everytime theres a sighting of you.
Everything else shutters in absence and its Jupiters arora blue aura glowing on me. Nothing pops out like you do. You posses that ting that lights up any room. Ahh sweet home. Jupiters aurora blue aura - Swoo
May 22, 2022
May 22, 2022 at 4:01 PM UTC
https://www.amazon.in/gp/aw/review/B00MYY0DMA/
By Kalpana Arora on 9 June 2017
Verified Purchase
It deserves more than 5 stars!
The story ends with two messages perfectly conveyed.
1. Don't waste your time in search of love while you are studying.
2. The current caste-based reservation system in India is flawed.
I can't disagree here.
What a magician Atul is! Such romance, poetry, love, heartbreak, action and what not!
Surely a class apart than most popular novelists!
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 7:10 AM UTC
Sometimes, when love grows,
it does not run wild, like haphazard branches
of a tree you wanted to stand beside.
It does not unravel like a birthday present,
hidden deep under layers of suspense,
and adventure.
It does not swirl around the world like a rainbow,
celebrating first touches, accidental eye contacts,
and naked phone calls.
Sometimes, when love grows,
it grows like the lines of a poem which once marked
tombstones around your heart.
It sticks like a fresh bruise under your feet,
and makes you want to run,
behind butterflies and stars.
It grows like a seed in your throat,
every-time you gulp, it scalps a little skin,
and heart.
Sometimes, when love grows,
it outgrows you.
– Mayank Arora
II. Sometimes, love dies.
Sometimes, love dies like the falling autumn leaves
That swirl in a storm
And before you know it, the summer is over.
Sometimes, love dies like the ever widening spaces in midnight phone conversations,
Just like the crackle over the line swallows your soul,
Love swallows you whole.
It’s musty rankness creeps up on you in the middle of your third dance,
When your lipstick begins to fade and the cocktail has gone stale.
Love fails.
Sometimes love reeks of broken dreams
And heaving, bruised promises.
It stinks of the clamor for survival against all odds. Though it boasts of battle sores,
Sometimes, love loses the war.
Sometimes love dies,
Fading away faster than the colours of the polaroid
That made love grow in the first place.
Sometimes, love renders lovers faceless.
Sometimes, when love dies,
It ends the lies,
Just so you can live a little.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 12:50 PM UTC
A home away from home,
Is how I merily define a school.
Running in silent corridors,
Not wanting to go in morning assemblies,
Finishing lunch while teacher's teaching,
Passing chits when they caught us gossiping.
Our tiffin boxes were empty before recess,
Fun was snatching other's lunch then.
Years later don't know will these be remembered or not,
But those 'samosas of canteen' will really be missed a lot.
When teachers said " go out if you don't want to study"
We looked at each other to ask if they are ready.
We will really miss kabaddi and volley ball matches,
Between seniors and juniors.
Those lovely days of early ages,
And the open books with curly pages.
I will really miss each and every class,
Whether nursery or twelfth.
We will really miss,
The boring exercise of Saturdays,
And the 'Arora patties' on roadways.
We were sent to gain knowledge,
But we had all sorts of fun and games.
To teachers sending us out of class was a punishment,
But for us it was full source of entertainment.
Those lazy mornings and the lame reasons for not going to school,
Those fading school uniforms and opened shoe laces,
Those half opened eyes and closing school gates.
Few months later all won't be there.
Just a cherished memory,
Is going to become.
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 11:25 PM UTC