The Orange Plate

Plates are not a rare phenomenon in any hostel room. They are found on tabletops, under food packets and occasionally used as flying saucers, drums or frisbees. They are usually taken to the dining hall and back by their owners, and the saddest times are when they get into an accident and die, splintering into a thousand shards on the floor.

The orange plate was made of plastic, so it had an easier time than most other plates. It didn't break when it fell to the floor. It was easily cleaned with soap and didn't stain. It had a wide radius, so it never spilt food. It did a good job for most of its life. The owner, however, grew careless as the plate was unbreakable, and placed a hot kettle on the plate. That was when its weakness was revealed. It couldn't withstand heat and melted right in the middle. There wasn't a hole, just a round scar. The owner, being a college student living in a hostel, thought that it was unnecessary to buy a new one, and continued using the plate.

From then on, the plate was handled much more carefully and served out the remainder of its time in peace, till it was time for the owner to leave the hostel. After that, no one really found out what happened to the orange plate.

Please do take a look at this, like, support and if you'd like to, try your hand at the challenge too!

https://theprose.com/post/161291/the-last-train-to-elda

Really excited for the results, and I hope to be read by Simon and Schuster... *fingers crossed!*

Exam blues

There's nothing like a test or exam to get the poetry vibes flowing. I wonder why that is. We students would do anything to put off the inevitable - like organizing midnight junk food parties in hostel rooms, rediscovering old friends we haven't talked to for years or simply, sitting down to write a novel whose plot has been floating around in your head for want of initiative to put pen to paper. An exam comes along, and boom! A switch turns on in your head that says 'This sounds like a crazy idea. Let's do it!' I have an exam tomorrow afternoon, and here I am, learning to knit a scarf, and updating my almost-brand new blog, all at the same time. I have no clue why I didn't do either of these things before tonight, but that's just how it is.

Tea Time

Tea time is a ritual
A time when friends gather
And ramble along paths amidst the woods
Enjoying the breeze.
Perhaps the setting sun
Would have a look in
And dye the sky
In luxuriant hues
As we sit sipping tea
With a sweet bun on the side
Conversation's the main course
Served at these short walks
To the tea shop
Before long,
It's time to hurry back
And get inside
Before the bell rings,
Signaling the much detested curfew hour.
I look forward to tea time everyday
Sweet moments of freedom
And companionship
Steady as the tide
That ebbs and flows
On the seashore
 

The Love Equation

    
If I plotted Love on a graph sheet
What would it look like?
(The expression of love as a mathematical expression -
Does it
Sound sensible?
Or incongruous
Like the sight of you and me
Holding hands
Would be?)
Would it go
Up      Up      Up      Up
   Down  Down  Down
Like the beat of my heart
Trying to match the rhythm of yours
Or
Would it be an arc
A perfect curve
Eternally lifted up
In a sassy smirk?
No.
I rather think
It'd be a jagged scar
Running right across
Ripping the surface in two
Breathing ragged
Heaving sobs
Silent
A soul as lonely
As the axes
Which meet but once
At the origin,
And then
Nevermore.