Wednesday, December 10, 2008
It was the month of November, and a chill breeze was blowing across the XL campus. SIP was over, and Ensemble was around the corner. The people of XL were jobless, and wouldn't let the Countess sleep in peace. "But we want something to doooo..." they whined. Thoroughly bugged, the Countess woke up one morning and said, "Let There Be Oktoberfest!"
And there was Oktoberfest.
Four days, and lots of events - Movie Quiz, Pot Pourri, Just-A-Minute, Mock Press, Bluff Master. Oh, and Stylus. The Uncreatively Named Creative Writing Competition.
"Love is the delusion that one woman differs from another." A less controversial theme than
last year's, we always knew. But the one thing we
didn't foresee - that the word 'love' would bring forth so many poems. Dear God, so many poems.
But never mind. Entries came in from far and wide - sixteen entries, we would have you know. And here are they are below, for your perusal. Feel free to click on the 'Comment' button below each post and leave your bouquets and rotten tomatoes.
(The starred ones made it to the second round.)
GMP:Sanjeev Kumar Jha (
one,
two)
Suhas V Tendulkar*
Juniors:Bhaskar SharadHameeduddin A*
Ramaswamy VSachin PaulShubham Khurana*
Tapan Malhotra*
Tushar WalwadikarVineet SharmaVineeth Kumar RavichandranSeniors:Ankur Sawhney (
one*,
two)
Naween Kumar*
Riti Garg
Oh, and before we forget, the winners!First Prize: Hameeduddin A
Second Prize: Naween Kumar
Labels: Stylus
A Blind ManI was little and I didn’t know
That she took care of me all night long
I was different but she didn’t mind
And in her lap, I could feel the stars shine.
It was time to grow
Others teased, they made fun of me
And she fought for her little bro'
Didn’t I know, she loved me despite all my flaws.
I'm blind, I can’t see
But oh, then she touches me..
Can’t I feel, oh so red
The warm feeling inside of me!
Are they different or are they the same
The three women who showered love and care
Please tell me what the truth is
For I cant see and just feel all good..
- Riti Garg, P07050
Labels: Poem, Stylus
LOVE – A COMPLICATION?
June 14, 20083:30 AM: The night was breezy- the night I proposed to her. I came close to her and held her hands- my heart aflutter with anticipation. Her eyes met mine as she moved closer- my expectations were sky high. But suddenly she shouted “The time is 8:30 AM” and I woke up with a start. The alarm clock spoilt my dream. The same dream! The same girl! What was this supposed to mean? That too on the day I was leaving Hyderabad for XL!
2:30 PM: I was in the Secunderabad Railway station to catch my train. I was waiting for the train to depart when I saw her- The girl of my dreams, the girl I was waiting for all along. This was my chance. I hurried behind her and was a few steps behind her when she dropped a greeting card accidentally. And in a scene reminiscent of the zillion Bollywood movies, I picked it up and was about to return it when I heard my father shouting “The train is about to depart.” And the girl too had disappeared. I flipped the card over and saw the name POOJA on it.
9:OO PM: I was in the train chatting with my dad but my mind was still on Pooja. I decided to stand at the compartment door and lo! She was at the door. This was my chance.
“Hi” I said.
She turned to me and smiled.
“Hey, you dropped this at the station today.” I continued and handed the card to her.
She looked at the card and smiled “Thanks a lot. My sister dropped it actually and was searching for it. “
“But I saw you at the station.” I said rather foolishly. She smiled.
This was when realization struck me. “Twins?” I asked
“Yes.”
Whoa! I was in love with this girl’s sister and not her.
“Oh Ok!...By the way, I’m Vineeth and on my way to XLRI” I said, holding out my hand. The girl looked visibly surprised.
“Oh great! Me and my sister Pooja too. Joining PMIR.” she exclaimed.
Wow! Pooja and I were to be in the same class- a great love story was to begin. ‘But this girl too looks the same, Why not her?’ my confused conscience asked.
“No! There is something about Pooja that attracts me.” I told myself determinedly as I dozed off that day.
This was how it all began. The day the three main characters in this story met.
**********
I joined XLRI and began life as a B schooler. Pooja and her younger twin- Neha both became good friends of mine. One thing I noticed was that both were similar in almost everything. But still my eyes were only on older twin. The first few days at a B school was quite different for many and needed a lot of coping. New life-new experiences. Unable to do so, Pooja broke down, but Neha took it sportingly and was smiling all along. But even then, Pooja’s weeping was more attractive to me than Neha’s chilled out nature.
As the first term progressed, the three of us became great friends and were always together in everything- projects, contests and even when Fraxing. And all the time I noticed that both the sisters were identical in almost every aspect except for the fact that Neha was more jovial and easy going while Pooja was more reserved. I latched on to this subtle difference. “I need somebody who is calm as my girlfriend” I said. As days turned into months, I also noticed that Neha wanted to spend more time with me and that seemed restless when I was paying attention to Pooja. It meant only one thing- she liked me. So in a couple of months, I was in this situation- I loved a girl who didn’t show interest in me and I was liked by a girl who I was determined not to love just because I loved her twin.
This led to frustration and for stress relief, I began dunking my own batchmates, gave the hardest of kicks to my friends during their birthdays and Counter-strike became an addiction (Kill virtual people to release stress.)
Finally, I realized that this was the time to get our friendship to the next stage and I decided to propose to Pooja in a formal way. The chance came in our village trip when I proposed to her but her answer was simple - “You are just a good friend.” I was distraught- to say the least and I went into a shell and that showed- scored a nought in my next Managerial Economics test. I noticed one thing though, I never saw such a relieved Neha before. But still, I could never think of her because I loved her twin sister. I was disillusioned by the love for Pooja.
The second term at XL was grinding with SIP, assignments, Ensemble, CS, NFS taking away most of our time with no time left for brooding. The month of November arrived and as part of the creative writing competition in Oktoberfest I was given the topic “Love is a delusion that one woman differs from another”. This one line changed my outlook towards the two main people in my XL life. Why was I ignoring Neha for Pooja? Just because I loved Pooja? But I liked Neha and if not for my adamant stand on love, I would have accepted her. After all, she was no different from her twin sister. The fact was that it didn’t matter if I loved somebody. What mattered was whether somebody loved me.
Four months have passed since Oktoberfest and now I am happily committed to Neha. I, Neha and her elder sister are still the great friends like we were before. I have accepted my love towards Pooja as just another passing cloud.
p.s.: All characters here are fictional :)
- Vineeth Ravichandran, P08062
Labels: Prose, Stylus
“Love is the delusion that one woman differs from another”
Dark, fair, brunette, blonde,
Never bothered to look beyond,
Accept the truth so stark,
They all feel same in the dark.
He mused to himself. She was the tenth woman he had dated that year, or was it eleventh - neither did he remember, nor did he bother to. Beauty, he always knew, was skin deep, and love was pure and absolute jargon. And of course, they all felt the same in the dark.
The same old cribbing, the beautiful smile,
The mush, emotions, just a different profile,
Wide brown eyes, just a little darker,
But truth, as I knew, was much starker.
And that evening was no different from the ones he had spent with the previous ones, the same old candle lights, the chinese cuisine, another bouquet of red roses covered with glittery water drops sprayed intentionally to give the desired lusty effect, all that was pending was the ceremonious invitation for coffee at her apartment, and whatever followed.
Another woman, another night,
Who looked different till she turned off the light,
And then everything was just the same,
Just a different place, just a different name.
It took him another week, and a day more to forget her to the extent of not being able to recall her name within ten minutes of thought. And all it took was not taking her calls for a couple of days. Like the last few, she also understood in due time. Contrary to popular belief, girls had brains too, he mused.
Love is just a four letter word,
A euphemism for something even shorter,
Love is just the delusion,
That one woman differs from another.
He scribbled in his planner, and read it over and over again, adoring his handwriting, another asset he was proud of, not to mention the poetic tinge and the profound thought. For as long as he could remember, he had been trying to appreciate the differences in women, but to his disappointment, could never go beyond the appearance. And the fact that it all led to the same further turned his attempts futile.
A husky voice to turn me on,
A passionate dance from dusk to dawn,
A fragrance so strong, I can’t escape,
Something or the other, which makes me gape.
And the pictures of the women he had ‘loved’ ran through his head like an MS PowerPoint slideshow, which reminded him of the presentation he had to make in the evening, before a new and prospective client. Work, he thought, was ‘also’ repetitive and unexciting. After an eternity of cribbing, the clock persuaded him to begin, half-heartedly though.
In a background of contrast,
When the time ran too fast,
My thoughts ran even faster,
As I saw her.
He could not sleep, and it was not unusual. He had noticed the smallest movement of the tiniest speck of her body, even her nimble fingers, while making the presentation, and that too was not unusual. He was sure she was impressed. But he had fumbled, how could he, he never did. It took him a while to convince himself how usual it was, and an hour of boring sitcoms to put him to sleep.
Her nimble hands, as she painted the tree,
Oh lord, when will they set me free,
Her husky voice still haunts my night,
Stops my dreams from their timeless flight.
He was drenched in sweat, as he got up, and jumped to switch the light on. A mixture of darkness and loneliness scared him. He opened the drawers on the right, unable to find what he looked for. He ran for his suitcase thrown carelessly on the couch when he had gotten back, relieved to find his planner inside. And struggling through its pages, he found and dialed the number. And the next minute, he found himself driving, lost enough to forget turning the music on.
Oh darkness you are a mystery,
I am caught in your unfaithful game,
When at one moment she scares me,
The next you make them women the same.
A sense of fear and excitement engulfed him as he took her hand in his. As he had noticed, her fingers were familiar, exactly like the fingers he had interwoven in his own a few years ago. He was right, she was impressed. And he did not know her more than her surname and her designation in the client’s organization, nor did he want to, purely professional reasons as they say. Next moment, he was thanking the very darkness which had scared him, and then it was the same routine which followed. They were all the same, they were not her.
It happened one night, when I lived a dream,
Her smile did shine, brown eyes did beam,
Piercing through the darkness of the sky,
When that husky voice made imagination fly.
He woke up with a start, on a sleepy Sunday morning, cursing the alarm clock, thanking it at the same time. After the usual morning rituals, the big brown clock in his bedroom told him it was time. Skipping the breakfast was usual too, no different from any other Sunday. Women and Sundays have a lot in common, he smiled. He did not forget to turn the music on this time, and drove leisurely to the white marbled building on the outskirts. And after the usual formalities, the nurse led him to the room. The first time he had come to the hospital, he had found the building too complex, the room too difficult to locate, but he was now familiar enough to guide any person to any room across the hospital. And there she was, staring outside the window, and he was gratefully surprised to see her live another week.
Her hands, her face, her eyes, her hair,
She was thin, and tall, and not-so-fair,
Everything about her was very unique,
That love, in her arms, I did seek.
- Shubham Khurana, B08053
Labels: Poem, Prose, Stylus
"Love is the delusion that one women differs from another."
- H L Mencken I think this quote is only applicable for the testosterone challenged male variety of Homo sapiens.
Mencken was probably one of them. He erroneously saw women as intellectual beings (what a misconception to carry through life?). And I would agree that in his restricted view, he was essentially right.
One of the great learnings of my life has been that on the intellectual plane, women are essentially similar to each other. Just to make a point, I can categorically say that no sane man can even dream of discussing some topics with women (For eg. topics like Schopenhauer, Joyce, Gyroscope, string theory, golf, creative evolution, Nabokov, Puritanism, Zarathustra, etc, etc, etc) without wincing on hearing a ‘practical rendition’ of such theoretical concepts.
If a male variety loves a woman all ‘heart & mind’ then the fault lies with him. One ‘heart & mind’ engagement is enough to render the man impotent to carry on intellectual intercourse of a level similar to that of ‘good old single days’. And on top of that, if this fallen fellow embarks on a repeat mission disbelieving the ‘Mencken delusion’ then there is no saving him. Each encounter pushes him more deeply into a feminist regression vortex until he loses his identity & becomes just a voice without a tenor ( ref my article ‘From Masculinity to metrosexuality- the women empowerment trap ‘)
Having said that, I would say that my take on the above quote is totally different- I do believe that the fundamental difference is essentially structural. And in this regard, I unabashedly yarn off the famous Hollywood quote- women in her infinite variety. There is no doubt that sans embellishments, each bare sculpted form is unique. Infinite points of exquisite elegance exist that highlight the differentiation- the droop of the curve, the varying color tone, the distribution around the mean, vital statistical differences, folds & creases, to mention only mentionable few attributes. And every new experience in structural explorations makes you not only wiser but also richer.
So in the final analysis it all comes down to your definition of love. If you are looking for the intellectual variety kind of love then the delusion becomes real.
BUT if you are smart & are looking for that common ‘bang out of your buck’ kind of love then there is no delusion. Variety exists…..
- Suhas V Tendulkar, G08092
Labels: Prose, Stylus
Why do we bother worrying ‘bout love!!
They say love is blind, devoid of boundaries, oblivious to age, and blissfully unaware of sexes! Then why is every soul worth its salt wanting to be loved by that one special person? Why does everyone talk of chemistry doing the magic when it is something so biological in nature! It’s a concept as bizarre as trying to listen from the eyes and sing from the nose (Although people out there are hell bent to prove the feasibility of such a thing and damn well succeeding!)
To say that I want love and want to be loved is true. But to put my love requirements into silos and expect one person on the face of this earth to accede to my demands is something that challenges the very spirit of opportunity and freedom of choices. I propose to stand for the rights of every girl that ever existed to express her desire in me in the fondest of ways possible. I propose to whole heartedly accept the reality that two hearts are better than one and four are definitely better than two when it comes to expressing love and fondness.
Religion and upbringing, I must say plays a crucial part in inculcating this spirit of opportunity for all. To say that some religions and beliefs have been grossly misinterpreted would be an understatement. To say that a religion that believes in providing opportunity to look into options and gives unprecedented freedom to take multiple chances at finding love, is stifling and martinet in character would be a blunder as big as having George Bush re-elected to the President’s chair!
‘Upbringing’ could mean different things to different people. To some it is a way of life, to some, well, life. To some it is the birth of a relationship and to some unfortunate adventurous ones (read as betrothed), its death outright! ‘Upbringing’ is probably the single largest indicator of interest and passion imbibed in an individual. For the fairer sex, it is a measure of how well groomed and well rounded they are and for the darker lot, a self realisation. When ‘upbringing’ does not differentiate one woman from the other on any (well most of them) basis, why does the mind ponder to move on!
All these words lead to the simple fact that,
Love doesn’t choose,
‘cause love is all blind!
It is but a river of fun,
so benevolent and kind.
Love knows no boundaries &
Knows no rules to abide.
All it knows is if this one goes,
There’ll be someone else by my side!!
-Tushar Walwadikar, P08057
Labels: Prose, Stylus
Lead the ChangeSometimes change is difficult,
Yet we all need to change.
At times life may be easy,
When matters remain the same.
But it can be distraught with ills
Which only change can change.
Life now needs a change,
And the change must be for good.
Whether it is easy or tough
Good is good and bad is sometimes worse.
Believe in your convictions,
Believe that the best is yet to come.
Because the day will definitely dawn
When things would get brighter.
This is the world I always dreamt of
A world which is good for all.
Work hard and pursue relentlessly.
For the best possible results,
Think of the best possible way
To drive change, to change.
Stagnation can spell doom,
Change is the need of the hour
Life needs to change,
And change for good.
Because, change can change
The world ahead of us.
The world in which we live.
The world which we all love.
We are the agents of change
Change for a better world
Change for good.
Change for the best.
- Sanjeev Kumar Jha, G08086
Labels: Poem, Stylus
P00r and not so poorThe old lady, begging and pleading for empathy,
Waited by the roadside,
For some angel to come across her way.
But, no one seemed to alleviate her plight.
Moved by her painful agony,
I stopped at the sight, thinking to myself
How could god be so cruel to her?
As I pocketed out a coin and dropped in her bowl.
She heard the clank and her face gleamed
She looked up with gratitude, to thank
Only then did I realize, she was blind.
“What was her fault? Why this skewed luck?”
Crossed my mind as I crossed the road.
A sudden feeling gushed in the back of my mind
Thank god I am so lucky, to have what I have.
We don’t learn to appreciate what we have.
We feel restless for what we don’t have.
And never realize what god has gifted us with.
We don’t know the worth till we have them no more.
God, you created this world,
Reframe this world so that there is no suffering,
No pain, no grief, no cries, no failures.
You are the creator, the sole manager.
Change this world, purify it.
Heal the world: make it a better place.
- Sanjeev Kumar Jha, G08086
Labels: Poem, Stylus
My Love - When Will You Know?Blind ! Love is.
Told, I was.
On a maiden, all my gaze I poured .
A beauty nonpareil , I always swored.
Seduced I was, by her artless charms.
Wished I did, to be always in her arms.
Momentary thrills she bestowed in plenty ,
Making me feel like one in a billion and twenty.
Slave I became, to her appeal and ornament,
“How am I to live without you?” was my constant lament.
Capable though I was,
Of eulogising my sweetheart
Words failed me in her ubiquitous presence.
Sweet-nothings I wanted to whisper.
Only to wonder,”Power of speech, did it ever grace I ?”
Ergo,gave up I did, my relentless battle
Of owning her through my will and my zeal !
Rest I did and silent I became,
Eloquence-silence hath more than speech*
Then, she did hear……
A heartrending cry
From the depths of one soul.
In a torrent she came,
To embrace that source.
Surprised, I was not ,by her impulsive act.
'Coz .True love is rewarded, I knew in my heart.
“Why, the delay?” I asked my beloved
Experiencing her in my everexistent heart,
“Why the delay?” , she retorted back,
“It was your fault ! ” was her reply to my shock.
My faults she pointed out with love and grace
“Duality as long as you felt, shy I was to kiss”,
"You and I are the same, you resisted to accept”
Hence the delay, hence the delay……
“True, my dear….true ”
My lover You are .
My father You are .
My mother You are .
I ,You are ,
Nay, You-I am !
Whom “people feeling duality” call NATURE…..
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Well-timed silence hath more eloquence than speech-MARTIN FARQUHAR
- Ramaswamy V, P08041
Labels: Poem, Stylus
LOVE
Riding the high spirits, and
living the dreams,
memories affront eyes with lovely face within
dangling heart, frozen mouth
shaking lips for fear unseen,
the jerky flaming life...
seems so lush and green.
lovely nature, lovely spring
lovely thoughts,lovely scene
lovely faces, lovely 'ring'
lovely song the fairies sing,
thoughts presents an opera,
with life beautiful as ever been.
nay the feel that poet need,
nay the words that writer heed,
nay the colours a painter seek
nay the songs thou soul bleed,
its all amazing, all awaking
a new sail to pleasure unseen.
the grandeur of raw emotions,
brings the doom to, captive motion
unrestricted, uninhibited
sweeping over every 'wall'
drunken mind , drunken soul
a drunken wish to lead them all..
Be! the last gaze of mortal self,
thou lovely face, my assassin!
- Bhaskar Sharad, P08014
Labels: Poem, Stylus
Love the word that is most overused and misused, it is not an attempt to define the indefinable. Why we fall in love, for whom and when these are the questions no one can answer. But is it a delusion that makes us choose to a person, and say yes I am for her and she is for me, or is there something more. Is it the appearance or is it something else. Can we do the statistical analysis of this, can something like ANOVA help us here. There is no urn models for this. (better get other perspectives)
There is definitely a soft corner people have for special someone. Is there some reasoning involved, one himself don’t know the reason as love don’t expect anything in return, but there is always something, some agreement, unwritten-unsaid that is never broken. It is not about a women being different from other, it is just not being able to see someone else in her presence. It is just not being able to think about something else when in her absence. It is not delusion it is love.
Do love look for comparative analysis before happening. Do we make choice in love or does it just happen. Some says it is the first sight, but some says it is over the time. Some says it takes time to understand, some says it does not involve understanding. I feel that love is not about difference, its about standing for someone. After all if someone can’t stand for somebody he will fall for anybody. Love is not a fall it is rising for something you believe in and belief does not just happen on basis of difference. The only thing required to have belief is belief.
- Sachin Paul, B08105
Labels: Prose, Stylus
IS IT HER?It is not the clouds that rains,
It is she who weeps.
It is not the tree that swings,
It is she who wanders.
It is not the earth that cracks,
It is her heart that breaks.
It is not the air that moves,
It is she who breathes.
It is not the sun that shines,
It is inferno inside her that burns.
It is not the forest that spreads,
It is her hand that longs for…
It is not the ocean that stands,
It is her tears that accumulate.
It is not the antique clock that stops,
It is her heart waiting for real love.
It is not a leaf that falls,
It is her soul dying to reborn.
BUT, WHO IS SHE?- Vineet Sharma, B08062
Labels: Poem, Stylus
Every time I fell in love, it was her all over again. Every time I decided to tell, it was the same sweet pain. I am no different from an addict; I am a slave to my own crimes. I am far from happy, and yet these are the best of times.
It all began in innocence, before I had learnt of love. It was that angry look she gave me; when I dared to hold her hand. I had no clue why I wanted to do so, but I did and the anger stole me away; I was hers for eternity. Lunch box stories and snack time tales, her presence blowing like the wind, filling up my sails. I knew there was something here, but what it was I knew not, her hand begged to be held, and I said to myself ‘why not?’ It was disastrous of course, the story ended right there. A classic romance cut short, a lady lost, a hero ruined. I was left groping at her cold stares for some warm comfort.
And then again it happened. I met her in college, she went by a different name, but she couldn’t fool me for long. My longing eyes had seen past her face, it was her! Yes! And lo! I wasted no time falling head over heels in love. We moved in the same circles, and we also moved around in circles. We flirted a little; me a little more than her in retrospect. We ate lunch together, and we spent time discussing life. I did her chores, and I did some more of them. There was no hand holding nonsense this time, but then I never knew that the rules had changed. The wind did change direction, my sails did deflate. I had done the right things, but just a little too late.
I am no sucker who gives up. I am the epitome of optimism, my time in history was at hand and my plans for it were rather grand. Here I was, in place far from home, and far from her. I was sure that this time round if I find my match I’d make it work. I was not expecting to see her here, no sir! Then again the quirk of fate has its say, and you end up in the same, age old play. I resisted long, I looked around for other wonders to admire. My fixation with my own tombstone got the better of me, I relented. I played the game a little, but the endgame beckoned. I was a junkie in search of his next shot. No point in being late, I confessed right away, expecting my reward. Sure enough the rejection came. I now write this, basking in the sweet ecstasy of the pain it brought.
I’ll delude myself that it isn’t her again to inflict upon myself this pain. It is classic conditioning and I respond to the same stimuli.
- Hameeduddin, P08022
Labels: Prose, Stylus
Modern Loving – The Relative Grading EffectThere she was walking down the street
Her hair was the color of spring
In her eyes I saw my life
My desires, my aspirations take wing
That moment on I knew for sure
That we were meant to be
In sickness and health and all that was said
It was but a dream to me
Thereon life was a heady high
One shot after another
Till the day I barfed and said
“I believe this is the end of my tether”
In the grasp of incremental change I lay
In search of something far improved
Someone who could make me smile again
Someone to whom I’d be glued
And then....
There she was walking down the street
Her hair was the color of spring
In her eyes I saw my life
My desires, my aspirations take wing
Damn! This cycle shall never end
Your conscience it shall smother
For Love is but a delusion then
That one woman differs from another
- Ankur Sawhney, P07007
Labels: Poem, Stylus
i love the little girl
who makes sand-castles
jumps into puddles
and loves the rain
i love the friend
my shoulder to cry upon
someone i can confess to
without fear of being judged
i love the butterfly
who colors my dreams
and at the end of the rope
shares her wings of imagination
i love the superwoman
who looks after me
the one who holds my hand
through the dark night
i love the sunshine
who strews smiles around
the one whose light
i feel with my eyes closed
and each one is as different
as chalk and cheese
a delusion, i know
that love makes me see
all the different women
love made me see in her
i love all of them
i love all of her
- Naween Kumar, B07032
Labels: Poem, Stylus
Behind Closed EyesWaist-deep in white cotton
Shadowed angles ontop sheets
Laboured breath against my neck
Besides whomever I sleep.
Whatever should come with the morning
Be it even me with her
Still we'll catch up over coffee
With little need for words.
In goodbye, my arms around you
You'll kiss me to be polite
I'll miss her through next morning
Though I'll lay by someone else tonight.
Waist-deep in white cotton
Digits clutched tight to sheets
She might aswell be nameless
Behind closed eyes.
- Tapan Malhotra, B08057
Labels: Poem, Stylus
AngelDrifting along the ocean’s tide
The ocean we all call life
No shining star, no guiding light
I’d had enough of staying alive
Then I had a vision
You were there next to me
You were there with your magical smile
Is it land that I now see?
Love is too small a feeling
It doesn’t even give you a clue
Love is for human beings
I feel more for an angel like you
Is it delusions then I ask?
Are you not the angel I desire?
Is every woman of the same mould?
Forged in the same heavenly fire
They are my love she subtly replied
For all women are but the same
Selfless and caring, the epitome of love
Yes each and every dame
Yet matters of love are different so
Not an illusion so to say
There is only one who is made for you
To love till your dying day
- Ankur Sawhney, P07007
Labels: Poem, Stylus
Four days, and lots of events - Movie Quiz, Pot Pourri, Just-A-Minute, Mock Press, Bluff Master. Oh, and Stylus. The Uncreatively Named Creative Writing Competition.
