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.

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)

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!!

Today I saw, oh, quite the sight,
A man on a pole, dressed in black-tight.
Crowds gathered, police gave a shout,
“What’s your name? What’s this about?”

He stood tall, his voice so deep,
“I am Batman,” made the crowd leap.
A silence fell, then laughter grew,
Till another yelled, “I’m Batman too!”

Each man then puffed their chest in pride,
“I’m the hero,” they all replied.
From pole to street, the claim was grand,
Each one a savior of this land.

Yet as the scene turned to delight,
We all forgot the true dark knight.
For Batman isn’t just a name—
It’s every man’s secret, heroic claim.

By Vedanta Anagha (Mayank Tripathi)

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!!

Walking under the moon, wishing for you,
In the still of the night, my heart beats for you.
You may be my house, a shelter so strong.
But I am your home, where you truly belong.

By Vedanta Anagha (Mayank Tripathi)

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!!

I am a god and this world I made,
Where light once danced and dreams once played.
There's a house where a little boy stayed.
A little boy called out my name,
Wishing for more than just normal worldly game.

I held his hand while he lay asleep,
I called to him from slumber deep.
I saw his face, so pale and still,
When he opens his eyes and saw me,
And asked, "Are you the god who will?"

I simply nodded, lost in graze.
"Can you help?" , He softly said.
A voice so faint, so filled with dread.

But I, the poorest of all-
I can't bestow what mortal call.
A piece of soul, or gift of gold,
My power faint, my hand grown cold.

He hoped in me-I let him down,
A god in shame, without a crown.
Tears ran wild, I gripped his hand,
He asked again to understand:

"Can you help me, make me sound?
A picture of me music around."
But I stood silent, weak, and torn.
The second passed; his eyes grew still.

I stood in silence, felt the chill,
I turned away, my heart like lead.
I could not steal him back from dead.

No breath to give, no life to lend,
Not even comfort at the end.
A fading god with empty hand.
Too weak to help, to understand.

I am the poorest god who holds no power,
To give his own soul in that final hour.
I am that God who failed the boy's last plea,
To change the script and set him free.

By Vedanta Anagha (Mayank Tripathi)