Welcome to the community blog of DelSlam. Here you can read truthful writings on things that matter in our lives. Share your thoughts in the comments section.
How my neighbour prohibits her daughter from wearing jeans
in the name of tradition and safety ;
how my cousin is barred from touring the world
ज़्यादा कुछ नहीं चाहिए ज़िंदगी
बस इतना ही कि -
जन्म लेने से पहले ही मरने का खौफ़ ना हो।
बात सतयुग की है,
जब मर्यादा की लाज़-शर्म निभाने हेतु मुझे बीच बाज़ार बेच आये थे
My mother's silence remains clogged in her lips coloured red with blood stainssince the moment baba raped her on their suhaag raat
By Shireen Khan
And all the alarms are blaring and red lights glaring
By Ria Chowdhury
My falling journey you don't want to remember, You don't want to write stories for your children.
By Aarushi Krishnan
‘The village grandma will get Snipped before you do!’ It was as real to us as ghosts or monsters were.
By Anagha Smrithi
the evening powders into violet dust,
the sun is distant & dizzy
By Rohan A
As I sit in a corner of my roomsmoking the final joint of the day
By Prakriti Basu
They dream while they sleepWhen all are but breathing corpses
By Ayesha Ahmed
Kishen breathed out, dejected, as he sat in his veranda basking in the heavily fallen moonlight.
By Akshaya Pawaskar
Seeing in the dark of the duskSomething bandaged and healing
By Nayanthara S
Meanwhile, catastrophic images flashed across the T.V. screen. There was mayhem and devastation all around...
By Shree Niveditha K
while the cloth covering my chestshreds into pieces and falls down in...
By Anish Malpani
These giant human-made birds,These titanium toys that that still light up my eyes
By Shagun Marwah
I hope that someday, you will understand why I had to do this. For now, take care of yourselves.
By Akanksha Patra
He constantly fell sick every other day and thus, employed his daughter in his place. Her name was, Jyotini.
By Natalia Nazeem Ahmed
This story revolves around a young woman, a haunted man, and their intertwined fate. Her name was Belle.
By Sriharsh Bhyravajjula
The trapdoor at the back has a rusted lock and a missing screw, and the only tools I have are...
By Kirthika Vijayakumar
Inside, a weary-looking man stood sipping tea, awaiting his last customers for the day.
By Narisa Wahlang
Ashley lay on the lush green grass enjoying the warm winter sun and the soft chilly breeze that brushed against her face
By Hina Naela
A gentle breeze blew across the rooftop, ruffling my hair. I hopped on to the boundary and swung my legs
By Pritika Rao
Nobody knows how to look at her anymore. She walks down the street to a dark blue wooden ironing cart
By Lakshya Singh
I tighten my hands around her neck, We coo and cuddle as languished crows
By Samra Khan
Your first steps, your first cry,Hatchlings drop before they fly.
By Namrada Varshini
the holy place of God,hanging my head in shame
By Utkarsha Anwekar
She used to speak in tongues of the sea,Harpoon-edge in her voice hidden deep
By Rakshita Gupta
And draws something on my handHolding my destiny under the veils of her shroud.
By Muskaan Mittal
as panic floods my parched being,an army of ants bent on conquest
By Arpit Vaishnavi
The rattling winds were colliding with the window panes and the rain was pouring down in sheets.