Wordplay: The Reading Spot

bee "Why do you stop, why do you stall?" The young professor asked them all "To stall is to break away from The treasures that await y'all" "Instead say, "I shall begin now; And make progress right away!" "Focus on one task, do one alone Lest the burden cause you to groan; And as long as your day's work is undone You shan't dream to dream of fun Let alone pass out, fight the drowse  Act like you own your house" (He left the audience enthralled and vanished)...on returning home The professor resolved to do his chores But alas! There were one too many; He had to call his mum, and then his dad Then get ready for his late night bath; Then make his bed, and read a book Then give the old paper a little look. And then, and only then would he Dream to dream of being sunny- But shhh, dare you say a word! For just after his usual snack, The professor has already hit the sack. -Armaan Kothare ** Summary- an ode to procrastination, humanity...

Ouroboros... My name is Yin. Spirits have been haunting the Kurai mountains for as long as the village elder can remember. Spirits are dark and ferocious beasts that abduct the living and only a handful have ever been able to slay them before. In a world terrorized by monsters such as these, I'm no ordinary workperson. I'm going to be a spirit slayer.  In the past few centuries, the only person who has successfully been able to slay a spirit, was my father, Naibu. His many years of research bore fruit in the form of the enchanted carbon steel swords that he'd forged, the only material that has been proven effective against spirits. Unfortunately, when he was returning from the Kurai apex, having slain one spirit, the exhaustion eventually led to his death. He passed away before he could teach the other village blacksmiths the methods he used to forge the carbon steel. And since he'd carried most of his weaponry and armour with him, there were only two swords left in his...

To love like a psycho... I guess we're crying now, the sky and I. I let my own tears fall onto the ground, as the heavens drench the whole world in theirs. I do no such thing, however, for I dwell in my despair alone. I haven't told anyone yet; but the sky does the opposite, every time. How desperate! It hopes for the world to share its sorrows, and attempts to do so forcibly, almost. Its tears cascade onto the faces below, regardless of whether they smile or frown. They drench a grieving man such as myself, so it would be far too ambitious for me to expect empathy from them. I used to love the rain; it used to be my happy place. I could dance in it all day, not having a care in the world. I used to think of it as me helping the skies forget their sadness. But when I cried, the sky only cried harder. I used to think it was because the sky felt remorse for having to see a friend feel so low, but I've come to doubt that view. Maybe its because the sky wanted the world to see ...

the flight to Neverland... On a cold and rainy October night The pilot made haste for flight To his origin, ("Neverland", he said) And then soared into the night. It had been several years since The pilot left Neverland And although he seemed to move on The townspeople deemed him sad. He never spoke much about the place, Yet would often dream about His youthful years in its greens And the liveliest folk he'd never seen. His dreams gave off hues of grief But nought gave off his face, Whenever the young man would be asked On cue, his heart would race. He didn't have the brightest years Back in those spritely greens He lost more than since, has gained, And yet, there, he longs to be. A little while after his ascent, that day There came a rapping from behind When he ventured to see, who the causer was, Was appalled to see a mere child. A tousled boy he was, and nothing more; The astonished lent him a hand The pilot asked, "So, where to?" The boy softly said, ...

When the knives bond... "I couldn't help it, Dad. He triggered me.", said the thirteen year old boy, Jon. "And how you control your reactions determines type of man you'll become." "But-....it isn't fair." "Such is life. Welcome to the real world, kid." Jon felt his trigger growing yet again, and he tried using his fist-clenching method to overcome it. His mother would be upset if he had another outburst. In fact, the whole point of this camping night-out, she'd said, was to help him calm down, and reconcile with his father. "Pass me that can of sand, will ya'?" Andrew said to his son, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his head. He'd been at it for three hours now...finding the perfect place, the perfect materials. He wanted the momental monument to be perfect; just like his. He grabbed the can from Jon, tipped off its lid, and started pouring the grains into the foundation pit. "Watch, Jon. The light...

Pressing the little circle, the screen lit up And displayed what tech had borne; Entering the website's 'trending' section Duly kept me yearning for more. Little rectangles covered the screen Each full of colours, red, blue, green; And every little rectangle, every day Held ideas never before seen. That was how my routine began The fireplace with pieces to remember, Talent flourished, and quiet without To behold creative embers. But then the flames faded away The genius fireplace now reduced to coal, All us watchers, just us remained Sitting in quiet, alone. Now every rectangle looks the same, all grey Futile right down to the core Yearning for some sights anew Full of life as before. Now, tired of looking for brand new feats, And weary of watching them roast I turn off the screen, and in the glass My reflection shows me what matters the most. -Armaan Kothare

I lay back in my chair Watching the seconds tick by, Don't know how much longer I'll wait But I'll do it without a sigh. The tea is already cold The careman's stopped asking 'why'; My schedule has known no chores I just plan on getting by. I think of all the different things I could undertake to pass time, But I know now, there's no point in them Money now earnt is nought but futile. It wasn't always quite like this Life had much more smiles, Mostly mine, but some my son's It's true! Trust this rhyme. We'd talk each day, and all day long He'd share his days with me and Mom But as time ran on, we edged away Buried in our own days, all day long. Things escalated as the world moved on A lot less smiles, each with their share of wrongs Playing and singin' songs are mere memories, Ones I find hard to recall. One fine day, we ended up on a plane Young sonny's wife said he'd booked a place "Mom and Dad's Weekend Getaway...

One man's loss is another's gain... Up and above where we couldn't see Lay a whole world of opportunity; When down on the land, we feared the end of time In pride and glory lived the ones of the skies. These fair spirits lived simple lives Lives so fair, they didn't ever die They ignored us, and ignorance is bliss And that's how they missed our petty conflicts. Yet one day, all of this changed A young and pure spirit glanced down at our pains She proposed to others to intervene And help us fix the flaws she'd seen. The clouds were divided by the saw of opinion Some chose the spirit, others chose their pride The others saw us for what our acts were And chose to let us little sinners die. The sky erupted in a storm of chaos And darkened with the essence of negative thought Due to disagreements, the spirits became us And so, a violent path, in vain, was sought. Along with peace, hope was shed that day Who won the fight? Not one can say; But as their blood poured do...

  This post contains all three parts of "Beyond the Light", compiled and modified for your convenience and pleasure! I hope you like the story, and feel free to let me know your thoughts and suggestions in the comments section :) Enjoy! Chapter 1- The Chamber It had been three days since the mysterious, purple colored cardboard box was brought to the Calonian research facility, just a week after the Great war had ended. Egor and Anatoly would normally have discarded the box, but the mysterious purple fumes coming out of it compelled them not to. Ever since the box had been brought to their chamber, Egor and Anatoly had kept a constant check on it; its sudden vigorous movements, the way the fumes fused with the air, the often light pounding noises coming from within...they noted down all of it. Every detail was to be recorded, for they couldn't risk the possibility of letting out a potential spying device. The end of the war  didn't necessarily cancel out the chances o...

  Note: The countries referred to or mentioned in this story are entirely fictitious and weren't used with the intent to hurt any person's sentiments or to target any particular group of people. III. Disclosure It was a special night. Nina and Antin's parents had cooked their favorite dishes for dinner; and it most certainly suited the occasion: the twins had finished their school year, Mrs. Gregory had been approached by a new client, and Mr. Gregory considered being alive a reason enough to celebrate. Especially due to the fact that they'd managed to be unharmed throughout the war, and today was the day it'd all end. That night, dinner was attended by four humble smiles, each ready to begin a new phase in their life. 'This dinner was worth the wait', young Antin thought to himself as he was about to attack his borscht. The past few weeks were exhausting for the family; they had to live in hiding. Brown paper plastered their windows, bullet storms curbed th...