On this bench sits a little girl.....

Dedicated to the victims


On this bench sits a little girl;
With hope in her eyes and questions about the world.
She looks left, she looks right;
She then frowns to find no one around her.

She violently pins some papers on the cardboard;
Bits and pieces of it which fly aimlessly on the road.
She rests the notepad on her lap;
This little heart pumps faster when the events recap.

Legs thump hard on the ground as she runs;
With voice muted and a dried throat she takes aimless turns.
The ghostly man follows her way throughout;
and with his uncomfortable touch, she painfully shouts.

Whom shall she go to? To whom shall she say?
when she sees her loved ones adoring him everyday.
She holds the pen hard and cries desperately to write;
Wordless she goes when she fails to express her plight.

Tears finally dried and face became expressionless;
Unsurprisingly, she is gripped by insecurity and loneliness.
Can she now survive in this world? Can she now take it all alone?

Past was repeated at every walk of life;
It did not surprise me when she first held the knife.
She looked left, she looked right;
She then frowned to have no one to care for her.

When devils wore the mask of friendship,
she killed her every little hope from relationships.
Whom does she have? For whom shall she live?
What can she say when her loved ones stopped to believe.

On this bench now sits a young girl;
With hope in her eyes and questions about the world.
She looks left, she looks right;
She then "smiles" to find no one around her.

Written by Vrushali Deshpande

Am I pretty now?

Am I Pretty Now
- Written by Baljit Bamrah

Here comes the ugly one
Looking sad and wearing black
Those stupid fuc*ing preps all laugh
Because she looks so fat

Trying to ignore the comments
She walks, looking at the floor
Since she doesn't say a word
They shout more ugly words

The jocks throw their footballs at her
And the anorexic sluts just laugh
She's teased in science,
she teased in english
She's even teased in math

Everyday, the same routine,
She runs into her room and cries
She thinks that no one cares
If she just curled up and died

Then one day after normal teasing,
She finally had enough
She couldn't handle all their teasing
And other stupid stuff

She grabbed some lipstickand put it on her lips
She grabbed her long black skirt
And then started to rip

At the corner of her eye
She spotted a pointy blade
She slashed her wrists until Her vision started to fade

Suddenly, she fell
Collapsing on a towel
The words carved in her wrists read,
Am I Pretty Now?

Restless Soul

This feel of a restless soul is so familiar to the dead thought of my body.
The air of suffocation welcomes me once again and I helplessly surrender.
These spirits shout from these four walls where I was always caged. Tell me if you have seen me hugging myself tight, tucking my head between my knees.

I hate the existence of my hands, my nails which fails to hurt the iron bars.
I dislike the touch of my fingers beneath my eyes whenever it attempts to wipe these weak tears. These ears turn red as I outrageously crumple them to cease the haunting sound of pain. Tell me if you have seen me hurting my face with my nails?

Masked face veils the buried realities and I once again welcome hatred from people. So ironical is this appearance adapted that you love to hate me.
Tell me if you have ever looked in the eyes of this masked face.

Here I once again step at your door when you first told me that yes this is your life.

Written by Vrushali Deshpande

Of what are these people made.....

Of what are these people made,
Of what goes in them to be this way
Their blood of cowardice and betrayal,
Where every moment’s planned to cease your survival
Spit on your hand which once promised someone
Treasure your words which has kept fooling everyone

Of what are these people made,
Of what goes in them to be this way
They breathe the air of jealousy and selfishness
Which holds them back from giving others happiness
They talk bad than any good about you
Its worth laughing on the games they play on you
Of what are these people made,
Of what goes in them to be this way

Opinions formed on what’s told,
Opinions are weak when hatred’s sold
For what is told is different from what it is,
Learning is pointless if you blindly believe
Of what are these people made
Of what goes in them to be this way
Go on with your hatred if you truly feel so,
I wanted to be your friend, but today you thought I'm actually your foe.

Written by Vrushali Deshpande