Writer's Clan


How irrelevant can a person’s life be? You can be what you want to be and you try to do that. Your whole life in a loophole, running after that one thing when you can be thousands of other things. Still hammering that one heart you got, still going to places that remind you of your downfall, deliberately taking a step towards the abyss that will take you nowhere and you’ll keep on gasping, heartbeats running on the speed of lightning; you’ll keep on falling into the nothingness. It will slowly gulp up and suck out all the light. It will show you darkness.
Just when you get used to it, it’ll throw you back up to a place where smashed, bloody beating heart lies and gives you a second chance to fix it.
Echoes will be abundant.
“Pick it up, start again now.”
You’ll pick it up.
You’ll pick up the hammer again and smash that one heart all over again.
But you can still be whatever you want to be, but if your past still holds your back, you won’t be.


-Aishwarya Diwakar

Writer's Clan


Sometimes I wonder why my words look like that lunar eclipse, shadowing the moon which holds in itself the dark secrets of the universe. My words were supposed to be art. They were supposed to make me and everyone else feel something but apparently, they are too gloomy, like the grief that is too cauterized to be touched and too raw to be spoken of.
I have been fascinated about the breaking of the night into little glow sticks for a long time, I have been an audience to the horror show of tragedies and comedies taking place simultaneously and I have written about them endlessly.
And today when the universe has reversed its pace; when the friable moon has made its place between the life and the star and turned the reflections upon us red… I wonder if we will survive this loop, the playlist of the most depressing songs which is never-ending, the comedy that occurs just to clear the way for another tragedy, the momentary happiness they give us.
…and about art, what will be its significance if destruction and draining emotions are considered to be tragically artistic? If that is art then I want none of it. The way you describe it can be art but somebody free falling into an abyss cannot be. If that’s art, I reject being an artist.
Today, we are told again not to look up at the sky, not because of malevolence or corrosion but just because they want it these ways, they want us to fantasize tragedies because someday, giving up on ourselves will never feel easier! A little effort is all it takes.
//of eclipses that cast a lot more than a shadow…
-Aishwarya Diwakar

Writer's Clan


I think it’s really brave of you. There’s valour in stepping out of your sheets when your flesh is numb, there is a charisma when you decide to get a warm shower and dress up when your bones are weary, when your stamina to fight is 0.1 but you still decide to give it a go.

It is a proud moment for the cosmos to witness yet another broken, exclusively and solely depressed soul trying to fix itself, little by little, piece by piece. I know it’s hard to put on some music and brew coffee for yourself when you aren’t fine, I know this day won’t be easy but I know you will survive.

Days will pass by slowly but surely and time won’t fly. Memories would not do any good, they will remind you of the good and bad, they’ll sting you from moment to moment, time to time. Talking it out won’t be simple and surely, there won’t be many people by your side but honey, remember, you need to put yourself first and you will survive.

You will fear those good memories fading out to traces in your mind but sometimes we need to let go off some things, things that cause more damage if you hold on to them. Make space for new ones and maybe then you’ll realise, somethings happen all over again, it will hurt all over again but honey, you need to survive.

Stay. Don’t go. Stay for the love of yourself, stay just for your own because you yourself are the only person you can talk it out to. You are the only one who will completely understand. You might be broken but not so unfixable. You know you can mend yourself, you know you can mould yourself. And remember, this is a part of life.

Keep moving and keep growing.
Contradiction. Dilemma. Love. Passion. Depression. It is a part of life.
So honey live for yourself, you know you can. Live for the fact that you are no mediocre sad love song… you are poetry, obligatory to be read at 3 a.m.

~Aishwarya Diwakar

Writer's Clan

Battles Within Myself

It’s been a dark week
Crumpled sheets and lots of wine,
It’s already eight a.m.
But my eyes refuse to see the sunshine
Nothing helps me now
It feels so sick,
I could have been strong
But it was three a.m. without music and smiles around.
They said how could I be so cold
I didn’t wimp and bawl
Lover lost,
Ditching myself in weed and alcohol
Maybe this was it
I’ll never get to see you again,
But these words themselves
Bring back the pain
I am drowning in pity,
Waiting for you to bring my lost light back to me,
Kiss me once again,
Set my soul free.
Lie to me if you will,
But I remember the truth, still,
Little did I realise,
I dived in too deep
I’m not the girl you’ll ever love
But the one you’ll kiss and leave.

-Aishwarya Diwakar

Writer's Clan

Mirror O Mirror

Mirror O mirror,

“Who’s the prettiest of them all?”
Is not even my question anymore.
I dare you this day.
Reflect my senses today.
My misery, my inadequacy, my helplessness, if you may.

Do not just show my hair and skin, reflect my soul.
Reflect anything or nothing at all but I beg for your mercy,
Stop showing me my fake smile, Oh it kills me.
Do not reflect how I look.
Don’t say that I look too heavy or too papery; too tall or stout. Don’t say that I have blemishes or crystal clear skin. Do not even say that I’m perfect. Make me face my flaws and my strengths. Do not get deceived by these flashes or the hazy moonlight. Show me how my soul is, dirty or clean. Reveal my true identity if you will.
I have this bottle with a few sips of lasciviousness left resting in solitude. Reveal before it vanishes, right before I take the last sip, weed-like, like me. The littlest last few drops which everyone likes to leave, the drops that go down the drain, reflect right now because Oh, I’m just done.
This time I’ll shatter you for your biasedness for I cannot handle how double faced you often get.
This time, I’d not let it go.
So dear mirror,
reveal or regret, the choice is yours.