Poems By Aanyaa Tekwani: Blog Editor

A shard of gold slips across my wall, soft as a secret. It pools on my notebooks, tiptoes over photographs, and catches the silver of a ring I thought I'd forgotten. The light rearranges everything without touching a thing. Dust dances like tiny fireworks, each one trembling before it fades. Outside my window, lights twinkle along the street, tiny stars strung in careful rows, dancing across the night like they know this year is meant for new beginnings. Their glow touches the edge of my room, mixing with morning light, and I feel the promise of joy quietly settling in my chest. I watch it linger, inch by inch, and in that quiet light, I breathe in the promise of days soft, bright, and entirely my own.

A quiet shard of gold drifts across my wall, slow as a breath the morning forgot to take. It spills over my books, a pale tide of warmth lapping at paper spines, photographs, a silver ring I never wear anymore. The light rearranges the room without touching a thing. It lingers on my wrist, turns the dust in the air into constellations— each one trembling before it burns away. I watch it fade, inch by inch, the way moments retreat when you're too young to name them as loss. And in that quiet undoing, I understand— even radiance has an afterlife of shadow.