Alena's Euphoric Quill

I found a box, wrapped with grace, Gold and black, a dream’s embrace. Ribbons weaved in a pretty sight, Softly glowing in the light. A sudden call, my father's tone, "Open it, it is for you!" I pulled the ribbons, soft and slow, Letting the magic gently flow. With each layer, A treasure waiting to unfold, Chocolates gleamed of dark, white, and milk. I felt like a child again, A child who gets excited over chocolates. But in that gift, it wasn’t about the sweet, It was the love that made it complete. My heart knew well, it wasn’t the treat, But my father’s care that made it beat. Thank you, Dad, for all you do, For every gift that whispers "you."

I want to heal and return to myself, But I’m worn out, weighed down by the sickness, I long for a gentle touch of care, The kind I’ve always been given. But the situation overwhelms the caregivers, Pulling them in other directions. All I wish for is for things to ease, To become less heavy and less intense. I feel light-headed, dizzy from the medications, Everything I eat tastes bitter. I just want to enjoy food again, And for this fever to finally break. I pray, and I keep praying. I want to see my family smile, For the laughter to return. But we’re all exhausted, Each of us carrying our own pain. Hope for better days fills my thoughts. My birthday is next week, All I wish for is good health, And for my family to feel joy once again.

The grace I’ve learned, a gentle light, Shifts my mind from black to white. Through costumes, we define our way, Yet it’s just fabric at the end of day. But some will see what isn't there, A world where judgment fills the air. You deserve the freedom to choose, To stand tall, with nothing to lose. Stitch your story in every thread, Let colors speak what’s left unsaid. No label shapes the soul you keep, You are whole, both wide and deep. Patterns shift, and fabrics stray, But your spirit soars beyond the fray. Wear your truth, let courage rise, You are the canvas, you are the skies. With every thread, you hold the wand, To weave and break the lies beyond. See the person, not their guise, For clothes can never mask the wise. Be who you are, with pride to bear, Wear what you love, and never despair.

Whenever there was a school trip, my mom would make a huge box of cupcakes for my whole class. On the morning of the trip, instead of being excited about the trip itself, I would be thrilled about the cupcakes I carried with me. They were usually marble cupcakes, a perfect swirl of vanilla and chocolate, topped with a thick layer of chocolate coating. My excitement wasn’t just about eating them, it was about sharing them, the way they seemed to have become a part of my identity on those trips. All my friends knew that if I came for the trip, the cupcakes would follow. It was almost a tradition. Whenever people thought of me, their minds immediately drifted to marble cupcakes, as if the two of us were inseparable. The rich smell of hot cocoa mixed with vanilla filled the bus as soon as I stepped on, and I could see heads turning toward me, eyes lighting up with anticipation. The moment I entered, I would always hear a collective cheer, "Alena brought cupcakes! Yayy!" It was th

Oh my dear santa, Oh my dear candles, Did you receive my wishlist? All I wished for is a happy memory, A pocketful of dreams, some wild, some small, A starlit night, a sunrise call. A moment of peace in a crowded day, The scent of the earth after skies turn. A whisper of wind through the rumbling leaves, Time to slow down, time to just breathe. A book to get lost in, a song to replay, A heart that's open, come what may. Laughter with friends, a love that stays, A path that's lit, even through haze. A wish for wonder, a wish for grace, To find your rhythm, your own sweet pace. A chance to be bold, to dance, to fall, To live and to cherish, to feel it all. For all the wishes, both big and small, Let life’s surprises answer them all. Is it too much to ask? Tell me. 

Little things make me happy, and one of those things is stickers. The love I had for them is indescribable. My first sticker packet was a gift from my mom, and that’s where it all began. I’ve always loved decorating, and being an artistic person, stickers were involved in everything I did. Wherever I went, I made sure to carry a packet of stickers with me to keep myself entertained. Every peel from the sheet filled me with happiness. I would stick them on my notebooks, files, and even on doors. They weren’t just images; they were small extensions of my creativity. Since I loved stickers so much, my friends used to gift me a packet of them with a greeting card every year. Stickers only cost 10 rupees, but to me, they were far more valuable. As I grew older, my relationship with stickers evolved, but it never faded. In 6th grade, my Hindi teacher conducted surprise tests, and for those who scored 20 out of 20, the reward was a gold star sticker next to the score. I studied so hard just f

  I am sitting in a cozy warm coffee shop with a cup of nicely made hot chocolate. There is gentle breeze from the open window caressing my cheeks and bringing a red hue to my face. The muffled conversations in the background and soft clinging of tea cups and plates. Despite the sound, it is an extremely calm and serene atmosphere. The sun at its golden hour kisses me with its light and I smile as I watch people around me, all living their lives. There are multiple aesthetic posters, diamond chandeliers and golden bulbs, The book section is filled with novels and pretty poetry books. In the background a hear a soft violin music.  The coffee shop becomes a place of inspiration. People around me are engaged in lively conversations, working on creative projects, reading books, or simply lost in thought. Each person has a story, a unique journey, and in this space, their lives intertwine for a brief moment. I imagine myself joining these interactions, exchanging ideas, learning from others

The most beautiful gift a person can offer is a handwritten letter. It makes you feel loved and cared for in a way that no other gift can. The effort and thought put into every word, the personal touch of the handwriting, and the emotions carried through the ink make it truly special. You only take the time to write a letter when you genuinely love and admire someone, and nothing can replace the joy of receiving such a gift—not even the luxurious presents you've dreamed of. One of the most treasured gifts I’ve ever received was a letter from my friend. It wasn’t just a few lines scribbled on paper; it was a carefully crafted message that spoke to my heart. Her words were filled with warmth, memories, and love, capturing the essence of our friendship in a way no material gift could. As I read her letter, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude and connection. It reminded me of the value of simple, thoughtful gestures and how deeply they can touch us. Her letter was more than just

At 12:00 am, my birthday officially began. It was October 22nd, 2020, and as I lay in bed, my phone rang. It was a call from my best friends from school. They had planned a surprise Zoom meeting—a virtual party to celebrate! I was both shocked and overjoyed as they unveiled a fun "Who's Who" game that they had created. I couldn't believe they had stayed up late, putting together something so thoughtful. Overwhelmed by their efforts and the flood of birthday wishes, I went to bed with a heart full of gratitude. The next morning, I woke up to another surprise—a video compilation of birthday wishes. My best friends had reached out to people from different parts of my life, including friends from church and my old schoolmates. I couldn’t help but feel so thankful that they had contacted people they didn’t even know just to make my day special. Watching that video, I was filled with excitement and deeply touched by the love and effort that went into it. At 8:30 am, it was

October’s beginning, a trial so clear, Of learning and growth with every new year. Of betrayal and new life lessons, All through my ordinary sight. The winds of change, they softly sigh, A reminder to reach, to always try. But October’s more than lessons deep, It’s the month where my memories sleep. For in this month, you came to be, A gift of life, wild and free. My birthday marks the season’s heart, A time of growth, a brand new start. So as October paints the sky, I remember, I am the reason why. Each year you bloom, each year you rise, Like autumn leaves beneath the skies. Learning, growing, and shining bright, October’s gift, your guiding light. A bitter start will not forever be bitter, As time passed, it does become sweet. I learn to grow every October, Also to live and show.

Always good but never the best ♡ I stand there, after all I could, Longing for recognition for once, I hear the cheers, the name that’s called, But it’s never mine, though I gave it my all. I chase the gold, I run miles for it, But always find myself at second place, Or even worse, no prize at all, The medals gleam, they pass me by, I reach for them, but they slip from my sky. I’m good, they say, I’m bright, they say, But never enough to touch the light. I’ve learned the rules, I play the game, Yet no one remembers my quiet name. I’ve held the silver, I’ve felt the bronze, But the gold is what my heart longs for. And in the silence, after the fight, I wonder if I’ll ever shine that bright. How many times can I stand in line, Watching others claim what I thought was mine? How many ways can I prove my worth, Before I break beneath all? I am the echo, not the sound, The runner-up, forever bound To watch, to wait, to almost be What others see so easily. I can sing but I am never the best s

Shattered pieces of heart, adrift in my mind, I realize there’s an ocean yet to find. Standing here with but a few small drops, While the storm in my chest waits, untouched, unlost. My tears deserve freedom, freedom to fall, To express, to be free—can they answer the call? But can they? Can they truly be? When judgment lingers for all to see? My eyes stay dry for the world’s gaze, Yet inside, they’re wet in a thousand ways. I lose, I fight, though they never heed, The tears that beg but I don’t set free. Behind this mask, whispers take form, Thoughts I bury, safe from the storm. The uncried tears ache to be known, Yet fear of weakness keeps me alone. But with those I trust, in my sacred space, I cry and share without the chase. That comfort zone has always been one, That one person—my mother, my dearest.

A note begins, like a quiet sigh, It wraps around you, soaring high. A rhythm rises, sure and clear, A pulse like footsteps drawing near. Each sound a touch, both soft and true, It knows the things inside of you. No need for words, no need for sight, In music’s arms, you feel the light. It sings of joy, of tears we’ve cried, Of moments lost and love denied. A human voice in every tone, Reminding us we're not alone. In every beat, a life unfolds, A story shared, a hand to hold. Through every song, it finds a way To speak the things we cannot say. Each chord a world, each beat a breath, A melody escapes the grip of death. From hands and lips to sky it grows, Music, the language the spirit knows. It dances through the quiet night, In sorrow's tears or joy's delight. A voice of hope, a bridge of grace, Uniting hearts in every place. A whispered hum, a thunder’s call, In music’s arms, we find it all. The pain, the love, the wild unknown— In every song, we’re never alone.

In every face, a story emerges, Eyes carrying the weight of their untold life. It captures more than a just the scene, The story behind everything we don't see. A child’s laugh spills into the air, A mother’s hand brushes the hair. Love gathers quietly beneath the surface, And the lines on the skin are maps of memory. Now I paint mine, Life paints with no order, Layering the joy and struggle, Some strokes are hesitant, some bold, Each one adding depth to the ever-shifting canvas. In love, in loss, in moments of stillness, We lay down the colors of our existence. Every breath, every pause, Adds to the portrait, always incomplete. The walls of time hold these images, Of days lived, of dreams that rose and fell. In the unspoken spaces, We find the essence of what it means to live. To live, live more the portraits vision.

Wrapped in colors, bright and sweet, As warm as mother's love can be, A little gift, a hidden treat, In her soft hands, she brought me three. It wasn’t just a candy there, Not just a bite of sugar fair, It held a piece of love and care, Wrapped in paper, folded rare. A memory of her smile so bright, In every taste, I find her light. The candy melts, but still it stays, With all the joy her giving plays. A simple thing, a fleeting bliss, But to me, it meant all this. I still recall that taste so true, The candy that she always knew, She brought to me when days were long, After teaching, tired, but strong. Even then, she thought of me, With that sweet gift in hand so free.