aditi's simple thoughts (original)

Mirror mirror Covered in blood Tell me your secrets Tell me your sins Forever changing  Illusions rearranging  All is fair in love and war And this is a bit of both Mirror mirror Hidden in smoke Tell me your secrets Tell me your sins Fractured path of silver and gold Don't make me choose which to follow Peace of mind; once a reality Now visits in the sweetest of dreams Mirror mirror On the wall Who, truly is The fairest of us all?

I walk afraid Of the future And what it holds I walked haunted By the past And the stories untold I walk timidly In the present Broken eggshells flaked with gold I walk Forevermore On this road With no end With no beginning

i have been thinking  about the pits underneath my feet i have been thinking about the clouds in the overcast sky i have been thinking about the path crumbling steadily, in a mysterious beat  i have been thinking  about the tears left to cry

        Ah, summer break! A time for beaches, for pool parties, for vacations... and for ice cream.          I was sitting near the window with my father as we enjoyed our little cups of perfection in the nearest Coldstone Creamery. The not-quite numbing coffee ice cream and crunchy Heath bar crumbs and pecans kept my mind and mouth very busy, so there was very little conversation.          As I stared out of the window to my side, I saw a blind man cross the road to a ultramarine blue car, his stick tap-tap-tapping against the tar as he walked. A man and woman, who had come out with him, unlocked the car, and the three prepared to head off.          As they stood by, a gleaming white Ford Mustang rolled in, stopping briefly in front of the creamery before rolling along to find an empty parking spot.          Just your everyday parking lot scene.         But the reason the moment stuck out to me was the sheer irony of the incident. A beautiful, highly-acclaimed car passing in fr

        The school bus slowly pulled to a stop in front of the main office. I sighed, staring out of the window as my mind roamed languidly, unable to focus on anything and still slightly sleep-addled. The sixth grade end of the bus was unnaturally empty, comprised of three occupants instead of the usual quantity. Of course, this stop meant two more students for our end, but that was hardly the point.         As the bus slowly filled in to its usual amount, I noticed a sight that made something in my chest (most probably my almost-nonexistent heart) twist. A man was ushering a very  young child to the bus, smiling. Now, this isn't uncommon: plenty of parents see their children off to school in the morning, especially since this is such a big stop.          But what caught my attention was the man himself. He walked rather strangely, to put it bluntly. He would always start with his right foot, then swing his left out in front of him; a hobble which made it seem as if he would f

A single leaf On a barren twig A single twig On a weathered tree A single tree In a crowded wood A single blade of grass Shadowed 'neath the tree A single deer Lonely and lost A single cloud Drifting aimlessly A single bird Calling for a friend A single mind Visualizing the scene A single soul Feeling

In and out And about again Weaving through life's Shenanigans Boil and bubble Each new trouble Cycle through day By day By day

A friend A saviour A chauffeur A guide An enemy A curse A gift An equal

We meet again My dear old friend, In the land of peace and sun. We met when I Was born anew, Thirsty for a mother's love. We meet right now As the sun goes down Along with my final breath. And we'll meet once more At life's open door To start all over again.

Knowing the  Unknown I'd rather face The tortures of Hell Than live to tell tales of nothing I'd rather know How twisted the world is Than live blind to all mistakes I'd rather feel The sting of pain Than be blissfully unaware And thus Be one To Knowing the unknown

Snow falling, Landing on the shingled overhangs, Sticking like glue; A small piece of A large puzzle.

Maybe if, We all gave A little more time From our Lives, The world Would be A b etter Place.

A poem that has been sitting in my Google Docs for quite a while now. Written fro a prompt given to the class by my fifth grade teacher: What is your most treasured item and why? It was originally a piece of prose, but I turned it into poetry instead. Pencil Long, Hard, Easily broken. Grows shorter As it's used. Expressing Freely, Making its mark. Never ending color Gracing each sheet. Line by line, Shape by shape, Word by word, A pencil that can change the world.

A PTA/PTO funded annual project, called Reflections, was presented at my school. I decided to take part in it, submitting a drawing and a poem for this year's theme: Within Reach . Here is the poem, titled Almost . Almost Aditi Bhattamishra So close. So very close. So tantalizingly close. A couple more inches. A couple more steps. A couple more hopes. A couple more dreams. A few more falls. A few more burns. A few more hurdles. A few more tears. I see it. I see the light. Almost there. I’m almost there. Almost.

Written for a prompt given to me by my mother. though the intended writing should have been more specific and biographical. The Life of A Chair The chair. A simple, basic object used daily without much thought. Defined by the importance of the sitter, and how hard said sitter’s tush is. The chair’s humble beginnings start in a factory, as most other objects do. Each chair has its own unique story, each boasting a different experience. Some have gone through the careful polishing and painting of wood, while others recall of the molds that formed there brightly colored, spinning bodies. Either way, all chairs have the same fate. All chairs leave the factory not knowing what they are in for. Each is excited to finally have a purpose, whether it be to add comfort at the dining table, or to seat the president in the Oval Office. Of course, us oblivious humans wouldn’t notice a thing, because they are, after all, inanimate objects. We would just fall gracefully (