Shriya's Thoughts

  Shards of Perfection   The shards of perfection, have bound us all, They hold us captives, they chain us all, Oh, everyone has been a prisoner to it, and so have I, They have cut me too, deep and sharp, Until I bled, too much to stop.   The girl was tired of being fake, Tired of staring into the mirror every day, Tired of hoping against hope she would change some way. Dresses and make up, False smiles and laughs, Everyone loved her when she was happy, No one wanted her when she was sad. All these years, she hid behind her perfect façade,                                      All these years, she was blinded by these bitter shards, She was blinded by the promises they gave, They made her pretty, but to the core she bled and cried, Oh, the poor girl, she did no...

Truth is something everyone requires,  You can live without love,  Or with Hate,  But every human, yearns, for the truth,  It’s something we all will eventually desire.  For who wishes to live in the dark?  Who wishes to be kept from reality?  The truth can be blinding,  But we’ll still want to know it,  That’s the unfortunate fate of mortality.  The truth,  Is like the swirling patterns of a collage,  Where it ends, where it begins,  From where did it start?  Truth can be labeled a mystery,  One that cannot be solved.  The world could be said truthful,  Or full of lies,  I would like to think it's truthful,  But how can I, when the truth is the latter?  People say truth is purity,  But how can something be pure? When it’s stained with the splotches of partiality?  How can something be wrong and right?  When we know nothing is black and white,  How can we choose a side...

  The night sky twinkled with burning stars,                                      Rolling fields marked with glistening dew, Cool wind brought rustling leaves that blew. Flowers gave a scent too sweet, And water flowed parted by rocks. On such a night, who knew, A battle would take place, That history it would undo. Stood on either side of that scenic hill, Armies, with stone faces, too still. Among them were two friends, Each on different ends, With sorrow faces, as the battle descends. This is their story, of love and youth, Of betrayal and truth.   Once upon a time, A time so old, a time untold, Were two friends, inseparable. Their bond was unlike any seen, That not even hell itself could come in between. What happened so terrible, that now they stand apart? No...

  We have taken everything, Extracted everything we wanted, And left the dust and dirt behind. We have cut trees, and killed their souls, Murdered the plants and taken nature’s control. We shoot blindly, in the darkness, The cries of the animals to our ears, Have turned to melodies. We have dipped the nature’s So careful balance, And shattered the harmony. We have blackened the swirling patterns, Of the beautiful water bodies. The blue has been inked by gray, in the once pure sky. We have spared no one, Left our own kind to die. It might be to late to stop, But this world is definitely worth a try, Next time, let there be no next time, Do what’s right, Lessen Consumption, Reduce waste, There are a hundred, million mistakes, Let’s right them, Before it gets too late, For the world’s future lies in the hands of our own people’s fate.   -           Shriya Nauhria

  No one wants pain, No one wants to feel the heartbreak, No one is willing to have their souls broken in a million pieces, Beyond repair, No one wants to experience the sting of that crushed despair.   And I hope so too, That no one should feel pain. I would like to say this world is painless, But that would make me a liar. And I do not love the world so much, to lie for it.   We say, we bless, we pray, For our loved ones not to feel that ache. That sensation of your heart, shattering under the impossible weight, The sound of your soul, giving up, broken too further, lost forever. Eyes ablaze like fire, Your spirit, flown away, lost in the burning of desire.   When things go wrong, we blame the element we think of first, Pain. For this shielded world of ours, has put a constraint, It does not let us think beyond what we know already, And so, even pain, Buckles under the strain of blame.   And one day, what we th...

  Time - A Cure or a Curse?  ‘ Time’ another term for recover, A medicine to the hurt which never heals, Slowly, like the curtain falls to end the show, The wounded marks, it conceals.   Time, a strange reality, Both familiar and distant, An unknown essence, A gift and curse, of mortality.   Time weaves the parts of a broken soul, The stitch of the needle of years, The soft cloth of experience, The disappearing rhythm of tears.   A young girl’s flawless public façade, Hid her heartbroken state, One caused by trust that was betrayed. Neither, truth nor love, could heal the cracks, Now placed on the restless heart, That beat with a toneless rhythm.   And so, all she could do was wait, Everyday, at the crack of dawn, The ache would return. Until, one morning, when the heart no longer ached. Time had found a way, To tape the shattered pieces of the lonely, broken heart, Just as a river finds its way, ...