All posts tagged ink


Published January 27, 2017 by Shreya Rajvanshi

​The blank white page

Brushed against my fingers 

That held the brush, 

Dipped in a colourful ink, and 

All my inspirations came down 



In front of me, in the form of 

The arch of your back, 

The curves of your valley 

Kissed by the setting sun, 

Dimming the contours of your shape, 

Teaching me a whole new language. 

My mind drew the image of 

Your black locks, 

Resting on your face, 

Lighting up from the rays

Pouring through the curtains, and 

You were marvellous, 

We were beautiful. 

The twenty year old ebony table 

Carved with your memories, 


Battered, came into view, 

The wood peeling off, 

Yet so prosperous, 


On the brink of solitude. 

My soul sang songs in this new, unexplored, 

Yet familiar language, and 

My mouth sighed its consonants, and 

My mind narrated the beautiful tale, 

But my hand still didn’t move an inch. 



Published October 17, 2015 by Shreya Rajvanshi

We danced across the pages
Through the smooth folds of
The little bright, purple envelopes,
Heavy with papers smelling of
Freshly blossomed lilies,
Grasping the shivering fingers of
Physical distance, marked with
The four day old lipstick stained
Kisses, touching every alphabet
That has been penned down,
And the cold breath that lingers
On the ink laced letters with
Purple petals quietly sleeping
Within the warmth of our hearts.


Published August 18, 2015 by Shreya Rajvanshi

Going with the flow of today’s
Electronic mail and online books,
I can’t help but sometimes long to
Hold handwritten letters in my hands
Written on the smooth and faded
Papers, painted in blank ink,
Smeared together at some points
Painting images of the little pause
The fingers made, and the words
Hummed confusion and anxiety
Of the same hands that also
Strung the garland of words without
Any second thoughts, and with
A flowing passion, marked by slight
Dampness from writing down
(Not typing, you see) so much
Telling me how they cared enough
To take some time out,
To write to me,
And then sealing it delicately
So that it comes flying right to me,
Taking its own sweet time.


Published June 19, 2015 by Shreya Rajvanshi

This past week made me realise
The rush that simple things like
A pen and paper could make me feel,
How drawing alphabets on the a sheet
Could make me want to draw an entire
Book and keep it to myself, or how
The little curves could looked like
Little birds finally set free in the
Clear blue sky, how writing is a way
For me to spread my own wings
And take flight, and this past week
Has taught me that maybe, just maybe
Writers are like birds, wanting to fly
Endlessly in their own sky and rest on
Their own clouds and how a
Writer’s block is like a cage, you want
To so badly escape, and once you do,
You know you’ve found yourself.