I an like a lost wind.

blowing here and there.

With a mind full of thoughts to share

I flow from the water

And cross the mountains

I reach the gulf, ocean and bay

But I still cannot find a way to say

I have secrets within myself

And an ardent desire to speak

To open the mystery of this world

And shine like an emerald

I want my mouth to express my sorrow

I wish, if I could borrow

I am sure that one day ibwould speak within the crowd

With a peaceful, perfect and a voice so loud. 

-Thriti 💕 



We are always surrounded by stories. We walk past stories, whiz past them in cars, and even speak about them inadvertently. When we write stories our primary motive is to make them stand out among other stories. All stories are so similar and yet so different. They are similar in the sense that every story speaks about a person’s life, and different in the sense that lives of no two persons are the same. Everywhere we go, stories follow us like shadows. Stories talk to us if only we care to listen. The story of the man driving the cab is radically different from that of the man sitting at the back. Yet both of them are in the sane car in close proximity. Likewise, stories can attain different characteristics too. Popular fiction, which we are acquainted with, has excellent narratives, keeps the readers completely hooked, but does not have ornamental language or literary devices. At the same time, literally fiction fiction is replete with both language and good writing style, but lacks diverting narratives. But both are stories procured from everyday life and tells tales about people. We tend to consider writers to be blessed with extraordinary imaginative skills but little are we aware of the fact that stories are floating in volumes all around us. All we need to do is to keep our eyes open. 



I dreamt to become a fairy,

Under the star studded sky I planned to fly with glory,

The sun will welcome me in the morning,

And then my life will be lighted brightly…. but

All of a sudden I dropped the mirror from my hand,

My dreams broke in pieces and my heart became numb

I saw my face in the broken mirror and realised that a girl became separate in pieces,.

I cried but nobody heard me,

I never found the answer as to why I was sad,

God sent me to cry and said be happy with that,

And I am still continuing my job..

I love to smile but people love to make me cry,

Someday my eyes will cry but, tears will dry,

I do not know who will come and wipe my tears

Ha! Ha! Ha! I know no one,

Because I deserve a heart which is full of sorrow and anxiety

made with bricks of grief!