prisha raina
Poet · delhi · India
art is stored honey of the human soul
A writing journey
I've been writing since young, my love for reading and writing started when my parents used to call me from shops, giving me an explanation on every book and buying whatever book I wanted. It grew and grew more, and now it has made me who I am and I am so proud of it!
Published writing
door
she kept knocking on the door, yet it felt like no one would answer. she kept knocking, the sound of her knocks growing louder
and louder.
it was like the whole house growled back to never knock again, but she still did. her knocks weren't normal anymore, her
fists now bruised by the wood, the wood that still stood tall
no matter how loud she was knocking. yet it never said a word, how could it? it was a mere entrance to a place abandoned,
its owners nowhere to be seen.
she looked at her fists, purple from pounding against this door that was never bound to open. the door that only looked
at her in sympathy.
she didn't belong here- but why was she trying so hard to ... belong? and all she could do was laugh at herself, and her bruised fist
and say goodbye
for real this time.