December Edition

DECEMBER 2017
.........
CHIMES
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Issue - 4
Volume - II
International Edition

CHIMES
Volume II | Issue 05 |December
CONTENTS
Dream, a dream.......................................PAGE 1
Our imperfect existence.......................PAGE 2
Poorvasha Kar
Strands......................................................PAGE 3
What if I do love you.............................PAGE 4
Anushka Pandit
Dandelion Wishes..................................PAGE 5
In her eyes...............................................PAGE 6
Kasy Long
Oh! it’s spring.........................................PAGE 7
Sheetal Bhardwaj
The big moon..........................................PAGE 8
Assef Ali
I am not a poet.......................................PAGE 9
Hareem Fatima
Caring my neglected soul...................PAGE 10
Rekhab e Ridvan
Utopia.......................................................PAGE 11
Urvi Shah
In the vineyard of Bordeaux..............PAGE 12
Oshin Gulsia
Existence of pads, tampons..............PAGE 13
Abhilasha Verma
Confessions of heart...........................PAGE 14
Anupreeta Chatterjee
Reading List..........................................PAGE 15
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MASTHEAD
NIKITA D’MONTE
Editor in Chief
nikita@inkdrift.com
KARUNA SHAH
Managing Editor
connect@inkdrift.com
POORVASHA KAR
Associate Editor
poorvashakar@inkdrift.com
NEENA C JOHN
Associate Editor
neena@inkdrift.com
ASSEF ALI
General Manager/Designer
connect@inkdrift.com
HARSHITA BAFILA
Business Development Associate
connect@inkdrift.com
BIJIT SINHA
Creative Head
hydranzia@gmail.com
ANUSHKA PANDIT
Social Media Head
anushka@inkdrift.com
Published from: Frankford,
Dallas, Texas 75252, USA
UDITA GARG
Associate Editor
udita@inkdrift.com
GABRIELLE THOMPSON
Function Editor
gabrielleothompson@gmail.com
KASY LONG
Function Editor
k-long.2@onu.edu
SHEETAL BHARDWAJ
Associate Editor
sheetal@inkdrift.com

Section One
CHIMES
“Hey there, remember me ?
Long time no see
Long time since I heard from you
Are things okay ?
I wonder how you’ve been all this time”

INK DRIFT MAGAZINE
Oh live a sweet life and
breathe it into your lungs,
to blossom the rusty buds inside
Into white lilies of longing;
Run your tongue
across vinyl records
Eat poetry,
However crude and blatant
Savor the orange squares
that taste like tangerines
Hum along the whistle
of the silent trees,
And coax your lips
with the gritty texture of paint.
For we are born blithering fools,
encased within ourselves
Never to err our ways
But we might as well die as fools
Covered in dirt and bathed in rain.
Dream, a dream
Poorvasha Kar
PAGE 1
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INK DRIFT MAGAZINE
Our Imperfect Existence
Whisper to me endlessly, drunk
On a strange concoction of
brazen reality and truth
Dignify the death of the
hideous esse,
that was a sore sight for eyes
And run out in the streets
naked,
Just as you were the day you came here.
Scribble love ballads on
deserted streets
Paint every door with graffiti
proclaiming your insanity;
For only the insane
live life without metal chains
snapped across their neck,
Not being,
branded as civilized beings
bearing several witnesses-
Culture, Religion, Politics
Nothing more than mere pretence,
Nothing more than pawns.
Feel the little things
And breathe in their ferocity
And their existence will enshrine yours
Being complimentary to your insanity.
Hum melodies,
For the bulbs that flicker every night,
Always dying, but never dead.
For the strands of hair that
curl indefinitely,
For the rum whisked down in a breath
That spewed melodies in
raspy whispers of death,
For the overgrown climber across the wall
That grew to the rust
and dusty bones of nightfall.
And your melodies,
rejoicing our imperfect existence,
will be carried by the west wind
And reach my ears as a whisper,
drunk on our existence- raw and unrefined.
Poorvasha Kar
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PAGE 2

INK DRIFT MAGAZINE
Anushka Pandit
The strands of love, the strands of connection, the strands which join two souls together .
They break sometimes, which hurts.
Hey there, remember me ?
Long time no see
Long time since I heard from you
Are things okay ?
I wonder how you’ve been all this time
How’s life going ?
Are all the strands in place ?
‘cause mine are nomore
My strands used to be entangled
with someone I knew whom
I dont know anymore
Do you think the same ?
Do you remember that person ?
‘cause you know I need him
My strands are in place no more
They’ve broken, the beads have fallen down.
They’ve disappeared , I can’t find them.
The beads, they were, the colors of my life
Life is a bit of colorless now
Hey, can you find them for me ?
Without colors, I’m getting blind.
So how are you doing
your strands in place ?
‘cause I think I found a bead
It had your name on it
Yes I found a bead, it had your name on it
Do you want it back ?
Or have you found new colors in life
This bead you don’t need anymore.
Hey I think I know the person now
It’s not you ?
Or is it, tell me where are you
I think you got your strands stitched
But my stitches they hurt
So I need my beads back
Give them back to me ?
If not you yourself, give my beads back to me ?
Strands
PAGE 3
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INK DRIFT MAGAZINE
What If I Do Love You
Anushka Pandit
What if I say I do love you
And you know you don’t anymore
What if I was lying all this time
And now tell you the truth
And you don’t love me anymore
What if my soul still craves for you
What if my tears still fall for you
What if you’re still the same to me
And I’m not anymore to you
What if I still want you close
And you don’t want me anymore
What if my heart aches every night
Every hour of the day every second it goes
And when you ask to me I lie that I don’t
Love you anymore or feel anything
When all I want today is you
What if I come up to you
Destroy your peace by telling you
Will you be able to then come back?
Will you be willing to take me back?
I know that you won’t, it’s not what you want
Then why do you ask and then you haunt
When all I am is a used canvas to you
And hell are you bothered by what I go through
Then why do you ask if I still love you
Because even if I do, you’ll not come back, will you?
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PAGE 4

INK DRIFT MAGAZINE
Dandelion Wishes
Kasy Long
For Sarah Defenderfer
Collected conversations painted on canvases
tell stories—each recalling memories.
I stare at pictures, angry at myself
for not taking the time to capture your image
more often on my camera.
A yellow dress remains tucked away in a dresser.
Dandelion, you’re free from your roots.
You tug on my heartstrings, pulling my chest inward.
My head pounds as I lay in chaotic bed sheets.
Heaving through the water streams escaping
the corners of my eyes, releasing droplets of memories
on my violet pillowcase.
No good-byes, no farewell hugs. Only a hope—
a wish. No more pain. No more tears.
Memories are what I have now—the only things
to remember your smile, your wit, your trust.
I keep your text messages saved on my phone—
the conversation we shared three days prior
to when you took your last breath.
Clipped from the meadow too soon.
Dandelion, you’re home.
PAGE 5
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INK DRIFT MAGAZINE
In Her Eyes
Kasy Long
After Kevin Young’s “Ditty”
I want to watch you walk
from our bedroom to the kitchen,
tucking your dress shirt into your pants.
I want to watch you drink
from your coffee cup
as you watch the morning news.
I want to watch you grab
your car keys, head to the front door
and waltz away to work.
I want to watch you sit
in your office and read reports,
checking your emails from clients.
I want to watch you walk
into our home after your day,
untucking your dress shirt from your pants.
I want to watch you drink
from your wine glass
as you watch the evening news.
I want to watch you grab
your cell phone and check
your email for new updates since you left.
I want to watch you sit
at the dinner table, eating the food
I prepared for you.
I want to watch you—every day,
for a lifetime.
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PAGE 6

INK DRIFT MAGAZINE
Oh! It’s Spring
Sheetal Bhardwaj
Oh! it’s spring, these words in our ears ring,
Like the music of the bird, like the hustles of the herd,
Like the chiming bells, like the clicking water in the well,
Like the ticking of a clock, like a light and pleasant knock,
Like the whooping of a dog, like the humming of the fog,
Like the symphony of the choir, like the mitigating fire,
Like the noise at the party, like a laughter too hearty,
Like the patter of the rain, like the crackle of a grain,
Like the chords of the guitar, like the strings of a sitar,
Like the lullaby of a mother, like plaudits of a father,
Like the sprinkles of the morning dew, like the sprays of different hues,
Like a sonnet in the moonlit night, like gushes of the wind from a height.
Like the twinning laughter of kids, like the exciting shrill of people in a bid,
Like the silence of the windy day, like the horses chomping hay,
Like the rustling of the autumn leaves, like the swaying branches on the trees,
Like the herald of the new beginning, like a cheer when someone’s winning,
Like the crinkling of love letters, like the roar of a prisoner unbound from fetter,
Like the whistle of the flute, like the sweet voice of someone cute,
Like a vehicle’s squeak, like a squeal when one’s excitement is at its peak,
Like the chords of a romantic song, like the whirling ocean waves which seem too strong,
Like the whirring of a spinning top, like the gushing water cutting through the rock,
Like the song of the melodious strings, like the pleasant fall of the beautiful springs,
Thus, when spring comes in a full swing, it gives our hearts a wing of happiness,
And clears all the mess and lifts us from distress, Oh! its spring creates a new zing.
PAGE 7
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INK DRIFT MAGAZINE
The Big Moon
Assef Ali
The falling star, as if that man in the constellation is peeing,
Do you get me? You get that the feeling is like,
The sprinkles of drizzle, the walk in the rain,
Tell me what I don’t feel right from the moon, and do come back soon,
It’s like honey and donuts with jellybean pain,
Sorry for pants, which I couldn’t care, back then,
That old weird love, I do still feel, for you,
Milk bowl with cereals, and slow streams of tears,
I feel you now, back from those good old days,
It still feels amazing, like chicken in Biryani,
Do you still listen to those songs, that we in car played?
Are your burnt fingers cured? When the wrong breads you broke,
Pineapples don’t like it, the stories I tell them,
Bae let me breathe the time off the tables, from lunches till dinners,
Come let’s go to moon, eat out the cheese,
Like mice in hurry, like lizard in pain,
Sauces from sun will be taken to love,
Right I feel for you, it’s just like back in those days,
Like pine and cherry in orchard plain,
Can we go blind? And eat all we want? Pizzas and cakes, with honey and cereal, within toppings of
cherries and berries insane,
On that big moon, I’m taking you there, for all these times,
We’ve been waiting for it.
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PAGE 8

INK DRIFT MAGAZINE
I am Not a Poet
Hareem Fatima
I am not a poet
I am a poem
For wisdom seekers
To plunge in
I am not a poet
I am words
That common people
Believe saying aloud is a sin
I am not a poet
I am a song
Eerie hope
Stretching light-years long
I am not a poet
I am a riddle
Which requires an answer
That can be wrong
I am not a poet
I am a wish
That grants subtle desires
Served on water-soaked dish
I am not a poet
I am a dealer
In exchange for impatient time
I give you tranquility
I am a healer……..
PAGE 9
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INK DRIFT MAGAZINE
Caring my Neglected Soul
Nekhab e Ridvan
Chivalry dominated the delighted evening of my life,
Jove and Muse hath conjured me up in praise of all morbid passions,
I was lost at the first sight of her bright gleaming face,
But never noticed her wrathful designs.
I kept on fancying myself with the most dreadful thought of union,
It was suppose to be an union of love, not of convenience,
I expected your hands to be benevolently healing like the nurses of the apothecary,
But all could I gather was nothing and I slipped the sands of time.
Well ,you may be sympathetic at my immense loss and might have gone far to curse that
Lady so fair,
So with due respect I introduce all to her,
She is none but my passions and fancy which has drugged me with considerable doses of opium,
I was dreaming myself dancing with an image of mine on the lawns of Elysium,
But before I was more suited for an asylum, those healing hands saved my utter misfortune.
I was made to penetrate the unfathomable depths of Her,
She tended me with utmost care.
Showed me all the moon and stars that she did bear,
Nothing ever leaves her and goes,
Her magnanimity and compassion always vanquishes their imprudent desires,
Those pelting droplets of the cosmic tears, once, did leave this earth’s abode to return as tears,
She still tends and teaches them the eternal laws of attraction.
I succumbed to the sweet drops of opium like passions, and forever neglected my soul’s understanding,
I knew as it was eternal and so would never die.
I stabbed it with the sword of fanciful phantasm’s :
Which were perhaps too sweet in their disposition but too sanguine in its virtue.
And When I was successful at last in blasting every bit of happiness in me,
My definition of happiness was sadly imprudent and material.
I never conjectured much into the self ,
Moments of deliverance was solely bestowed on the sparks of passion,
But happiness has got emptiness in its essence where no craving and all self satiation dominates.
Acceptance and forgiveness are it’s innate qualities,
At last this somber heart can rest in peace.
Edited by Anna(Ria)
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PAGE 10

INK DRIFT MAGAZINE
Utopia
Urvi Shah
What if there was an alternate universe,
where fading scars capering along our skin,
were looked at as the Victor’s cup and not an emblem of disgrace?
A medal of honour,
for the way the mosaics of each and every constellation in the universe,
imitated the pattern of the inhales and exhales of your curves and edges.
Where the thorns of a rose,
weren’t looked at as menacing or treacherous,
but valued,
everytime it drew the red of the rose,
right to surface of your skin.
What if there was an alternate universe,
where time and space taught us,
how to love the parts of ourselves
that we’d folded into the crook of our bones,
where the meaning of the word, ‘no’ was well understood,
and Jane, who is now John,
is accepted for who he is.
where our blood and sweat were made up of sunshine and the moon’s luminous phases,
so we knew when to be a halo,
and when to provide a shadow,
when someone’s overwhelmed by the light.
What if there was an alternate universe,
where beauty was vulnerability and rawness,
confidence and resilience,
where a woman wasn’t made up of metaphors,
and a fleeting moment lasted just a little longer.
Is it too much to ask for?
Could you be that alternate universe?
PAGE 11
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INK DRIFT MAGAZINE
In the Vineyard of Bordeaux
Oshin Gulsia
In the vineyard of Bordeaux
-O.GULL
O’er the moonlight she trips
Belle dame de Bordeaux
In her slippers of lavender and peonies sweet
She dances like a glitter shower mid spring
She is the wine of merlot
And petit verdot, at night
In this Earth of rhinestone
She be the sweet solitaire
And honey roset
For a man of no appetite
O belle dame de Bordeaux
In her slippers of lavender and peonies sweet
Walks she in her favorite dreams
Dreams…. of her vineyard at St. Estephe
And from the vineyard
Pluck a grape or two
To vanish
When we see her smile
From her vineyard….
To the ageing barrels
Quietly, she undrapes her body
Disappearing, as I stir the glass
O belle dame de Bordeaux
In her slippers of lavender and peonies sweet
She swings, amidst the grapevines
She sings, slipping and falling
Like an autumn leaf
And settle down in my memory floating
Like some dandelion fluff!!!
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PAGE 12

INK DRIFT MAGAZINE
Existence of pads, tampons
Abhilsha Verma
I am not yet another object that requires being attended
I have needs, wants, demands
I am not yet another flower that blooms
I am not yet another desire that grooms
I bleed, I speak, I cry
I get rashes, cramps and yet I survive
I want tampons, pads, not sindoor to tell you I am a married cow
I wonder why you still not accept that marriage is not the holy vow
Married or not, bangles or no knot,
I Bleed, I bleed , I bleed
Tampons or pads are a need
Sanitation should be the first raise of attempt to
At Least accept am a human
Not someone’s lady to pry.
PAGE 13
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INK DRIFT MAGAZINE
Confessions of Heart
Anupreeta Chatterjee
You bloom inside my heart’s mirror
And I found you in the midst of my life’s gloomy jitters.
Do you realize
That I remember you often?
You are my soulmate
who owes me happiness.
I have never seen you
but I dream about being together.
Last time, when you met me
in my dreams,
I could notice your eyes full of glittering loyalty.
I trust my life so we will meet,
Sooner or later, you will be mine.
I hide my desires secretly
because I do not want to annoy you in reality.
There is a possiblity
that you might not like me instantly
but universe suggests that
we are made for each other.
Hate me or love me,
you will be mine forever.
I might sound like an obsessive lover
but hold on...
universe has better plans for making you want me
in your life’s struggles.
Don’t panic, I won’t force anything upon you
But remember, if God pushed me
to enter your life
then we both have to come together
to fulfill that purpose.
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PAGE 14

INK DRIFT MAGAZINE
READING LIST
BUSTING CLICHES
by Mahevash Shaikh
Where there’s a will, there’s a way
Blood is thicker than water
Time heals all wounds
Who hasn’t grown up with clichés?
Clichés have been around forever and everybody uses them from
time to time. In fact, we learn a lot of them at English class in the
form of proverbs and sayings. And that’s a good thing, because a lot
of clichés are power-packed with wise advice and rules to live by.
However, trouble brews when they are generalized, taken literally or
misinterpreted due to popular notion. These overused statements
then become limiting beliefs that negatively influence our thoughts,
choices and decisions...
RIGHT BEHIND YOU
by Neil D’Silva
Right Behind You is a collection of 13 stories that invoke a mix of
horrifying experiences. These stories belong to various subgenres of
horror; each story providing a surprise for its unique style of narration.
While some of the stories are based on true-life horror legends
(like the Teen Mundi witch who was rumored to haunt Mumbai in the
1990s), some others are based on local lore. You will also find stories
that deal with fantasy horror and horror noir, as well as psychological
and microfiction horror. Immerse yourself in this unique experience
that is Right Behind You and feel that tingle run down your spine,
thirteen times over.
LOST CALLAHAN
by Aaksa Karuna Shah
Emma, Saphy, Ilesha, Yukti, and David are living peacefully under the
same roof until a severe tragedy hits them. Something happens to
Emma. Saphy loses her best friend. Ilesha moves out. Yukti is left to
face the most challenging part of her life. Amidst the chaos, Saphy
sets out to find her lost friend - to embark upon a quest for memories
that are lost, a journey towards happiness.
On the other hand, Sean is looking for something to lose, sulking
about the memories from the past. With a hidden connection that he
holds with her childhood friend, he writes the best chapter in Emma’s
life - to help her reach out to her memories, and discover the lost
Callahan within her. The novel is a gripping tale of everlasting love
and friendship - that is found and lost, only to be found again.
Ink Drift Magazine
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2017 © All Rights Reserved

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“Her laughter sounded like
April showers, like whispered
secrets, like glass
wind-chimes.”
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