When pen meets the page,
Ink ignites a fleeting age,
Where words set a silent stage.
-Jeslin
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When pen meets the page,
About Me
Words are my brush, the page my canvas. I weave stories that breathe, linger an art form shaped by emotion and meaning. My fascination with human psychology fuels my craft, guiding each line to resonate, to move, to be felt. From poetry to prose, from whispers of ink to bold narratives, I shape worlds where art and thought collide.
A Whisper of Ink
Some words are meant to be read, others to be felt. Poetry is where ink breathes, where silence speaks, where emotions find their form. Here, each verse is a whisper, a reflection, a story waiting to be heard.
Blinked hesitantly my frosted eyelid
Stepped out the broken coffin rancid
Wiped foggy ashes tag to skin
I was no longer human to kin
My pale hands could beat up snow
The only voice I made up gnaw
All I was a walking dark entity
Nothing could bring me sanity
Woods echoed dead souls scream
Sure it wasn’t my dream
Feet in forward asked for path
Had no ways other than faith
Took my fear into the dark woods shadow
Where only fearless shade of mine follow
I traced the sun and chased the rain,
believing I could twist the tide.
Some things bloom as they are, not as we dream,
The rain does not ask what I wish to grow,
But lilies bloom as lilies must,
no matter how I call for room.
The rain will fall, the sun will rise
yet lilies bloom in their disguise.
I traced the sun and chased the rain,
believing I could twist the tide.
Some things are meant to stay the same,
no matter how we call their name.
My lilies won’t bloom peonies
Yet Peonies will never sprout
where lilies stand in quiet pride
Maybe both, maybe neither
maybe it was never mine to change.
I traced the sun and chased the rain,
believing I could twist the tide.
Some things are written in roots too deep,
no matter how much I ache to rewrite them.
The garden whispered what I feared—
not all that we water will flower for us.
And yet, my hands are still stained with soil.
still tending a garden of misplaced hope.
With bird of essence far gone,
Stood in middle of corpse chiliad lone
Foggy mind of mine felt no longer breathe
As if barely I was on earth.
Should my solitude cry in vain
Else rejoice existence again.
A cold one flinched abrupt
In wish of one more life with no disrupt
Ruth his longing for survival
Coz for me death was a revival
Shall I switch my chance with his
Parting my life by a last bid kiss
Twice I thought to rise anew
But still desire frozen corpse as few.
A Taste of Ink
Writing is more than words on a page. It is the art of reflection, the quite weight of emotions and the echo of unspoken truths.
The pull was a subtle whisper at first. It came harmless, at least as I remember. The smooth talk, promises of something more, something better that felt almost too good to be true. At that moment, I didn’t question it. I didn’t hesitate. I took it without a pause, whatever it was, whatever I thought I deserved.
But it didn’t come with fireworks or alarms. No, it was quieter than that, like a shadow that I didn’t see until it was already consuming everything. Choices. The little decisions built up into something unrecognizable. It wasn’t until later that I understood: I’d already tasted the forbidden fruit, and it had changed everything.
In the beginning, I thought I was doing what was right. I thought I was moving toward something I truly wanted. The snake didn’t just offer me temptation; it gave me the illusion of control. It slithered through my life, offering me quick fixes, temporary satisfactions, empty moments and the hollow shells of ‘success’. But now, looking back, I see how shallow they were. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t enough.
And here I am, wondering if I had just paused, just resisted once—would my life be different? What would life have looked like if I had chosen differently, a different path, would the burden of regret feel any lighter? But it’s too late now. The snake’s offer has long since been accepted, and its grip tightens as it pulls me further from the person I thought I was.
The thing they never tell you about penitence is that it’s not a sudden realization. It’s a slow, suffocating thing. It’s waking up every morning, feeling the weight of your own choices, and not knowing if you’re still the same person you were before it all began and making you question everything you’ve ever believed about yourself. Yet, here I am, still carrying it. Still wondering if there’s redemption, or if it’s just a lie we tell ourselves to make the burden a little easier to bear.
The worst part? I know there’s no going back. The past won’t change. But maybe, just maybe, there’s something to learn in this pain. Some way to make peace with the choices I’ve made. Maybe it’s a lie I tell myself, or maybe it’s the only truth that keeps me going.
Yes, I am Eve. I’ve tasted the fruit. And now I live with the penitence of my choices wondering if I’ll ever find a way to make it right.
Eve’s Penitence
The Fire in Ink
Some words don’t just tell a story, they set things in motion. They spark thought, stir emotions, and leave a fire that lingers.
Is
a
Quiet
Rebellion
Brewing
in
Kerala’s
Young
Women?
In a small room tucked away in Kerala’s countryside, a 24-year-old designer stares at her sketchpad. The once-bold strokes of her pencil now hesitate. “I gave up my dream for stability,” she admits, her voice laced with regret. “But sometimes, I wonder was it worth sacrificing who I wanted to be?”
This quiet moment isn’t just hers. It echoes across Kerala, where young women are silently reshaping the fabric of society. Their stories from the determined teacher to the ambitious IT professional, paint a picture of a generation challenging stereotypes and redefining independence through their lived experiences.
For those pursuing careers in male-dominated fields, the battles are relentless. A 25-year-old MSc Agriculture student reflects on her struggles: “We regret our decision to take up this course. Fieldwork opportunities are limited for women, and we’re often overlooked compared to men.” These sentiments are echoed by a young data analyst who says, “You work twice as hard, but people assume you’re here because of a quota. It’s exhausting and dehumanizing.”
Financial independence is the cornerstone of this rebellion. A teacher shares her motivation: “My mother never had the choice to walk away. Her life was dictated by what my father earned. I swore I’d never be that vulnerable.” The content writer agrees: “Freedom isn’t just in words. It’s in knowing you can pack your bags and leave if the world turns against you.”
Even among Kerala’s postgraduates, the disparity between effort and reward is disheartening. A development researcher laments, “I thought education would be my ticket to independence, but I earn half of what my male peers make. It’s like the system is telling me, ‘You’re good, but not good enough.’”
The Questioning of Traditions
Kerala’s young women are increasingly challenging long-held narratives around marriage and relationships. Four MSc Agriculture students, for instance, share contrasting views. Two are eager to marry, craving companionship. One embraces the idea of live-in relationships, stating, “Love doesn’t need a stamp of validation,” while another rejects marriage entirely: “I’d rather be alone than let someone else dictate my future.”
This sentiment resonates with a graphic artist who questions, “Why should my life revolve around finding a husband?” A tech worker succinctly sums up the frustration: “First, your parents tell you what to do. Then your husband takes over. When do we get to decide for ourselves?”
Social Media: A Double-Edged Sword
Even as social media connects these women to the world, it casts a long shadow over their mental health. An IT professional observes, “It’s like living under a microscope. Everyone’s life looks perfect online, but it’s all filters and lies. You feel pressured to keep up, even when your reality is falling apart.” While social media offers fleeting inspiration, most agree it’s a distraction rather than a determinant of their dreams or choices.
The Meaning of Success
Despite these challenges, Kerala’s women are finding deeply personal definitions of success. For some, like a young art director, success means creative fulfillment. For others, like the MSc Agriculture students, it’s about securing financial stability and creating a life free from dependency. “We grew up watching our mothers struggle without their own income,” one says. “We don’t want to live like that.”
A development professional encapsulates the shared aspiration: “Success is living on my own terms. It’s refusing to shrink myself to fit anyone’s expectations.”
A Quiet but Powerful Rebellion
What stands out in this mosaic of voices is the collective strength of these women. They are finding courage in each other’s stories, rejecting the limitations of tradition, and carving out lives filled with purpose and independence.
This quiet rebellion isn’t loud or dramatic. It’s rooted in everyday choices. Choices to pursue financial freedom, demand equal opportunities, and live authentically.
“We’re not here to rebel for the sake of it,” says one woman. “We’re here to reclaim our voices and live with dignity.”
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