Night after Night

Night after Night
A memory moves to the grave.

Night after Night
I think of that first “hello”

Night after Night
I torment that “Goodbye” 

Night after Night
I wait for your sign,
Night after Night
My dreams watch our love whine.

Night after Night
I recall that fight,
Night after Night
I watch you slowly go.

Night after Night
Pain burns from my walls.

Night after Night
I recall those cries and joys.

Night after Night

Night after Night
You sleep with a smile, 
Night after Night
I sleep with a sigh.

Poetry, Women Empowerment

Daughter of a drunkard monk- A novel by Saumya Vivek Kaushik

Roaring Tiger 1857


Book Review: “Daughter of a Drunkard Monk”

Author: Saumya Kaushik
 Omji Publishing House Pvt. Ltd. (1 February 2015)

ISBN-10: 9384028134

ISBN-13: 978-9384028138

Genre: Fiction

Rating: 4/5


The Indian literary scene is bursting at the seams with new authors, new plots (almost, and sometimes contrived), new ambitions and new hopes (for some of us at least). And amidst all of this, as a reader, I am often perplexed and overwhelmed. I don’t know what to read some times. It is not about choice. It is about the quality of writing. It is about the writing that is intellectually laced and about the kind of writing that aims to reach out to everyone. In all of this, there is the kind of book that is mid-way – somewhere there but not appeasing to the masses (or not aiming to at least) and yet it does. “Daughter of a Drunkard…

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A Day Without You

Call myself to you
I am barren and brown,
without your water

I want to seek,
Your light
Your wisdom
Your joys
Your pains

Our Love
Our Agony
Our Wisdom

Call Me, Call Me Love…

Call myself to you,
I am barren from betrayals
I am done with the world
I long for your hand

I shed every tear
And continue to stand…

Call myself to you
I shall never grow
I shall never reap
I shall never see

Call myself to you
You were my light
You were my night
And, I can never be
A Day without You

Saumya Kaushik

Guest Post, Poetry

Guest Post – बचपन

आज जाने क्यों अचानक ही स्मरण हो आई

ये पंक्ति कि वे दिन भी क्या दिन थे ,

जब खाते थे टॉफी – चॉकलेट गिन-गिन के ,

हँसते-खेलते-कूदते-फाँदते ,

            कुछ यूँ ही बीतता था हर लम्हा , हर पल

            जब न थी कोई चिंता , न कोई परेशानी

            कि हाय , अब क्या करूँ म क्या होगा कल

हर पल था किसी न किसी का साथ

कभी शिक्षिका , शिक्षक , परिवार का साथ

हर कदम पर चलते थे हम थामे हाथों में हाथ

            आज भी जब उन दिनों को करती हूँ याद

            याद आ जाती है हर एक खट्टी-मीठी शरारत

            हर एक छोटी-सी बात

करती हूँ ईश्वर से यही दुआ

यही शिकायत कि ऐसा क्यों हुआ

हम क्यों हुए बड़े और आए एक ऐसे समाज में

जहाँ रूढ़ियाँ , संप्रदाय , धर्म और नियम भी हैं कड़े

            चाहती हूँ उन बचपन के दिनों में रखना कदम

            जहाँ थी ख़ुशी,उमंग, उत्साह,हास्य ही हर दम

BY:- Akansha Jain 


If Only…

If Only, I could control my mind,

I would be much sane.

If only I could tell that girl,

Her efforts are not vain.

If only, I could sleep a night sound,

I would be much sane.


If only, I could tell that demon,

To not leave me in disdain.

If only, I could tell that mother,

I would be much sane.

If only, I could control my mind,

I would be much sane.

If only, she knew her seeds,

Are now fountains.

If only, I could share that pain,

I would be much sane.

If only I could control my mind,

I would be much sane.

If only, the beggar knew,

Lies no magic in his mountains.

If only, I could control my mind,

There would be no pain.

If only, the girl, the mother, the picker

were not fighting from pain.

If only, they knew they would be much sane.

If Only…