She is a hopeless star in the limpid trance of a kindled fire.

She is a flaming dewdrop burning in the shadow of an untameable desire.

She is liquid luck spilt on the ground by treason,

And she is a budded flower waiting for the inevitable change of season.

She is the contumacious first flight of a bird,

And she is the story of a person, unsung and unheard.

—–Ridhima Dutt



Looking at the evening sky with nothing but a scarred face and shaky body,

Hugging yourself and thinking of all colours black and shady,

Masking your face as it is the only aegis unused,

And reminiscing the days when your days were vibrant and your soul unhued.

Looking at the water and merging with its flow,

Brushing off the prismatic petals that now seem to make you feel low,

Kissing your hands just before the knock of dusk,

Promising to be as unchanged as the musk.

—Ridhima Dutt




Long ago in ancient times, bitter story of two limes.

A dragon to another they say, could never cross the other’s way.

Long before the sun could rise, the elder dragon known to be wise,

Hit upon a plan to lay, to kill the younger one his way.


In the caves of mountains high, he devised a situation of curdled lies,

Brought the younger one inside and closed the mouth of the cave wide.

Time passed and the younger dragon sat in despair, with none around him to care,

With harsh sleep, food and thirst ,he believed those moments to be his worst.


Though young he knew magic black, thought of a curse but the skills he lacked,

with revenge in mind he inscribed it, so even after death all remembered his wit.

Not long after the elder dragon arrived, to call upon a mystery he had to dive,

But he only found ashes and words on wall, that described his doom and fate of all.


Even so he returned, it happened so, that his life became miserable and family also,

He realized the black magic made its course right into his life and living source.

Fed up of this turn of life, built his courage with a knife,

Right next to the cave he murdered his brother, he hit upon his idea of doom, yet another.


With dragon blood and tears in eyes, he wrote an enchantment with great vice.

He inscribed on the wall, thus and lo —

The Chekava mountains lost forever,

No dragon will be found ever,

Doom of all, none shall speak,

Hidden from all, this secret is to keep .

And so it happened, from that day on,

No dragon ever found beyond the lawns,

No animal ever dared to speak,

To say it all and get it leaked.

None shall know truth or myth,

The Chekava Mountains never found far and width.

Lost forever, this story of revenge,

With nothing either of the brothers could avenge.