Writer's Clan

Storms And Tranquility.

Part One.

He counted the lights in the urban city down the lane while I counted his scars. I wondered how he smiled so often with those heavy stitches on his lips. He said these were the consequences of bottling up too many secrets within himself. I always felt a very strong connection with him for we shared most of the cuts, those upon the soul. These scars were only for the body but on the inside, they were wounds that would rot me to death. He made my wounds shine over its cracks and told me how I was so beautiful with them on my skin. I used to believe that the world was dark, hiding deepest secrets behind every face. He told that it was the bright glint in my eyes that was eclipsed by the darkness and negative vibes of some undeserving people. I used to believe that my past followed me only to haunt me as I kept closing all doors to keep myself away from it, but he called me from behind a closed door and asked me to learn from my mistakes. I was a mess with all broken threads of trust, he was the magic that tied all knots to one that lead me to him. I sulked over the thought that I was better off alone with the fire within me. He took me to the darkest places where I learnt to become my own source of satisfaction. I was raised with the myth that a girl and a boy could have only a love tangent with each other. Here, I am standing on the top of the world having him for a lifetime as a friend. The two minds with a set of different thoughts where I felt we met by destiny and he claimed destiny was just an illusion.
“It’s our pain that found each other.” He said.

~Simran Riyaz

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Writer's Clan

An Unexpected Visit

A chilling night of December, I woke up to the sound of a knock on the door. It wasn’t the delivery man I was pretty sure about that, he wouldn’t come at 3 am. In a moment, I heard a sparkling sound at the window and a thud on the ceiling. I was on my feet with my heart pounding and in a jiffy I was moving down the stairs with a bat in my hand. With my grip slowly tightening,  I tried to peek out of the door but all I saw were vague images of people standing on my porch. An unknown voice suddenly said, “Are you going to open or not, we’re really tired!” Thinking it was yet another one of my neighbor’s guests who came to the wrong house, I abruptly opened the door and all I could see was one of the characters from my favorite stories, a visitor from Neverland, Peter Pan. I look at his face with squinted eyes, wondering if I’m still dreaming. “You dragged me and Tinker Bell out of our story! I figured that out in the last 3 hours! I am a character from that book!” We both stood silently as I continued squinting at his face, not quite able to figure out the words. He and the fairy started turning red with anger and frustration. Pushing past me he ran to my room. Realizing that a strange man had just entered my house without my permit I ran after him not losing the grip of my bat. I looked around the room and there was fairy dust all over the floor and they both were looking for something desperately, Suddenly Peter stood up from the floor and exclaimed, “Is this it? Is this me? Tinker! Tinker Bell, does this man on the book look like me?” The fairy joyfully nodded and I yelled, ” What are you doing? How did you get here?”

They both turned towards me. Peter, once again, turned red. He moved closer to me with an angry expression, and said, “Oh, don’t you get it! I’ll figure out how to get back on my own!” Hurriedly, he runs towards the window and bumps his head. Frustrated, he shakes his head and stomps his way back to me and snatches my bat without breaking his stare. Strolling back to the window he breaks the window and they both fly out. While Tinker Bell gives me one last stare, during which I stand among the shattered glass, still trying to put the pieces together of what had just happened.

All About the Lens, Writer's Clan

At Peace


Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi


Past through the maze of steels and bricks

I have come beyond the cradle of nature.

No raindrop kiss on my head,

No promise of a blissful lullaby,

Just my solitude, at peace.