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Bharath Nandibhatla
3 JUN 2017 AT 23:44

I remember going with you,
to that bangle factory.
All dark and lifeless.
You'd make bangles with clay,
mould them into such perfect circles.

You never knew what
a circle meant, though.
Yet, you made sure I knew.

If I look back at it now,
You dealt mostly with circles.
Bangles at the factory, zeroes at home,
dark circles from those sleepless nights,
all of them, perfect circles.

So much for losing that one red circle,
between your brows, Sindhoor,
as they call it.
That one circle that counts,
for a woman, as they say it.
But, is it? Is it, really?

You made bangles all day,
but you'd never wear them.
And to top all of it,
you had me, a mess of a child.

You were a single mother.
I was a single child.
You made bangles.
You never broke them.
I made promises.
I'd never have broken them.

But you chose to leave,
to meet my father.

I had promises to keep,
but you chose to sleep.


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Janani Sree
9 MAR AT 19:24

My emotions,
My opinions ,
My words ,
And my poetry ,
Are concentric circles .

The greatest circle being my poetry.


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21 JUN 2017 AT 2:26


I'm pressed upon
At rising levels....
At vocals,at thoughts
At breaths and now at beats.
Little had I known;
That consent meant lack of choice,
An achy uterus and silent cries.
And numerous nightmares
With open eyes!

(Full poem in Caption)


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Aditi Mishra
25 APR 2017 AT 15:18

Do we ever really arrive?

Is walking just an illusion?


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Kumar Priyal
9 JUN AT 20:05

Our story can be depicted through a circle :

Where I am the centre point and you are running around the circle chasing someone who you know can't be yours ...


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