Rays of Galaxy

Bhavna | poems & stories whispered under candlelight | dark academia ✦ cosmic skies

[bhavna-writes]

The Weird, Lonely Kid from 6th Grade

The loneliness has been my longest friend.

The friend who trailed behind

as they chatted ahead, arm in arm.

The friend who didn’t get the joke

after the bursts of laughter paused.

The friend you limited to small talk,

no meaningful conversations.

The friend who croaked to speak,

interrupted, reminded to keep quiet.

The friend who ate a meal for two,

because everyone else had a partner.

The friend who listened to your negativity

without a question of how they were.

The friend overshadowed

by the boisterous gens in the room.

The friend mocked at parties

because their name

wasn’t on the guest list.

The friend who catalogued groups

from the sidelines,

excluded from every hub.

The friend who lied to belong

and was exposed for needing too much.

The friend approached out of pity,

bullied for being the eccentric kid.

Relationally sensitive.

Culturally primitive.

The friend whose absence made no difference

when they went missing.

The friend who envied

the effortless,

the naturally chosen,

who tried and tried again,

and still it was—

(I am)

enough.

[bhavna-writes]

The Girl Next Door

The birds resumed chirping, the glass room displaying the miniature garden through the blinds. Plucking oranges to uphold the market’s legacy of the national fruit. Olivia had woken up earlier than usual.

The light tapping of feet on the porch was made out. Nursing the olives — rather fresh for this month — while the rest of the neighbourhood were allergic to her unmatched enthusiasm. In spite of that, Olivia and yearning likely maneuvered into happy hours.

The tagline girl next door was imprinted on her. Morning playlist reduced to a volume incapable of disturbing a flatmate.

“Oopsie daisy.” A pot displaced. Gathering the item, rearranging it on the balcony, earning a pat on the back.

August had misplaced her room number in his passwords folder. When he visited, the numbers used to come to him like mental math. Gently fed, mixing dough — the sugar melted into her nuzzles.

The living room — a hideout for binge-watching House of Guinness. Newspapers unmarred on the foyer. He cherished how she giggled when resting on his shoulder.

They dated for a brief patch. He retired to his apartment when it concluded. The breakup invited anticipated questions.

We had other priorities — an expected response.

If only they had been informed about how Olivia drenched his sweatshirt, sobbing muffled. His conscience prodded:

Only an idiot would let her go.

The wimp as he was, August did.

Hibernation elapsed. The lily barrette he tucked into her pashmina loosely clung on.

“I want Olivia back.”

[bhavna-writes]

When your keys trick the hole on the first try

When the nocturnal buzz drones and flies

When you hear the trinkets dangle from your pocket

When your camera roll apertures glimpses

When the old part and the friendly meet

When the figurines are raving in XL jeans

When you cross off the bucket list of wishes

When your Bluetooth audio upgrades a DJing radio

When the rose is fresh luminous

When the withered maple tree starts to peel

When you break down out of jocundness

When the lotus biscoff hack tracks

When you harness the temptress

When you’re incomplete — but the junkyard has to be emptied

[bhavna-writes]

my sunglasses tilted crooked frames.

the trigger warning was a bloody shame.

Favourite anime — Spirits flayed.

the AC on, gone to waste.

we emitted temperature —

shared forms, every degree and duvet.

exams spent like holidays.

beach tirades, vehicle raids / car raves and prawn flakes.

friendly. naive. awed by slides.

young, broke — intellect prime.

drew’s stubble gravely intact.

we swapped pillows, parodied tax.

the reasons for tags, the social brats —

innocent pacts don’t last.

an attached umbilical cord

inevitably gets chopped.

no longer junior — you vacate town.

ambitious morse code.

avoidant disappearing’s an inside joke.

pick up the phone. troll.

i lied about lenses at the wedding.

bridesmaid diet. dyed streaks.

reeling —

you’ve changed.

(will it ever be the same?)

[bhavna-writes]

I clutch your chest

like pearls in a treasure casket.

Desire spreads like wildfire,

leaving me feral for a drop of water

to end this drought.

My hips scorched with want.

I throb for your heaviness inside me.

In your black compression shirt

I lose my composure —

logic takes a right-brained turn.

Crush me

with the tears in your ligaments.

On your knees,

beg.

I like you respectful,

but I let you manhandle me,

touch me

like it’s your birthright.

“How much control will I take?”

Unleash your inner beast.

Be the animal you’re meant to be.

We work in all our pent-up energy,

same frequency.

Unspoken needs vibrating in synergy,

breaths syncing,

bodies in harmony.

Music to your ears —

the melody.

Like the jazz and groove bar

where you first tasted me.

[bhavna-writes]

you taught me transference versus limerence

the superstitious identity of infatuation

you converted me to astrology

against all odds

i prayed our signs were compatible

you made me count on angel numbers

floated above the pattern like a phantom

— a heavenly body

you gave me a self-fulfilling prophecy of dreams

and preached falsely against demons

you let me digest your hypochondria

my anxious palpitations

you diagnosed incurable

you tried to redeem my karmic philosophy

the chakra tricked the wheel

into a monotheist

it occurred to me

the idea of the one is occult

the déjà vu

is metaphysical

[bhavna-writes]

Clean slate

Labels on a brand name

Stock inventory

Intentional asymmetry

Hardware company

Acute, angled geometry

Modern artframes

Vaulted gallery

Illustrated tomfoolery

Split the royalties

Pyramid scheme

Bizarre legitimacy

Exploitation / expertise for a fee

Portfolio appease

Flash cards — trademark

Hallmarked on the boardwalk

Solvent’s salt

Minimalism erased

the allure / glory

of messy spray paint

[bhavna-writes]

New Year’s Eve

On the occasion of New Year’s, a new pyrotechnics exhibit had opened—the fireworks stole the spotlight—and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

I spread out my picnic basket, the red-and-white tablecloth, the goodie bags, and settled onto the trusty mat, nestling into the prickly grass.

A microphone blared through the crowd, announcing the show and urging everyone to take their seats.

“I’ll take a mojito,” I said to a passing waiter.

“In a zesty mood?” he asked, amused.

I turned to find Alex kneeling beside me, uninvited and exceptionally comfortable.

“No,” I said. “It’s just my go-to.”

“What happened to new year, new me?”

“That’s the bull corporate wants you to believe,” I dropped.

“What’s it to you?”

The night brewed with anticipation. I poured the drinks, intent on braving it with liquid courage.

“Moving on. Pick your poison.”

“Whiskey. On the rocks.”

“So you’re a hard-liquor guy. Who would’ve thought?”

“Hear, hear.”

He clinked his glass against mine.

Apart from work, I realised I hadn’t really interacted with him like this—undiplomatic, almost normal. It was oddly riveting.

“I swear to God,” I muttered, “my tolerance is better than this.”

“Is this against work policy, Sarah,” he prodded, “or should I stick to ma’am?”

“Not at all,” I said, reluctantly. “Sarah is fine.”

“If you say so.” He breathed, alcohol smoothing over his words. “This your typical holiday scene?”

“You’d be surprised. The last time I landed here, I was eight.”

I raised a brow. “Is crashing your coworker’s New Year hideouts your thing?”

“Lucky for you,” he said confidently, “this is a first.”

Confused, but resolved to keep my cool, I replied breezily,

“I’ll be damned. So—what are your New Year plans?”

“To live in the moment.”

He smiled.

“Yeah,” I scoffed. “Feed that to our boss and he’ll spit it right out.”

“Must you always steer things back to work?” There was a hint of irritation now.

“What else is there to talk about?”

“Tell you what,” he said. “Introduce yourself like you’re applying for a job.”

“And you’re the interviewer?”

“I’ll go easy on you.”

“Hell no. I have more experience. Anyway, that won’t be necessary.”

I reached for the bottle.

“I need another drink.”

“So you succeed in muddling your raw, unfiltered thoughts?”

“You conveniently left out how you spend the holidays,” I countered. “Aren’t your loved ones waiting?”

“Don’t be a bore, darling.” He waved it off.“They’re exactly what I’m here to avoid.”

“I’ve found a gap in your résumé,” I stated. “Care to elaborate?”

“Uh-uh. I’m the one hiring.”

“You’re fired,” I announced.

“You didn’t even finish the interview.”

He sighed, conceding.

“It’s exhausting—being treated like a coworker when I’m off duty. I call it work–life free balance.”

A pinch of guilt hit me for distancing him.

“I’m sorry,” I exhaled.

“My worth is measured on a scale of productivity, if that helps.”

He paused, choosing his next words carefully.

“I’ll drink to that.”

He polished off the scotch with practiced ease.

I rolled my eyes.

“What’s gotten into you tonight?”

“The holiday spirit,” he said, then winked. “Or the spirit.”

I groaned.

“Get a load of this—Alex Stone cares about a new date on the calendar.”

“Does tomorrow work for you?”

I whipped around.

“What?”

“Something about dates,” he rambled. “We’ll be booked on January first.”

“I’m not into dating,” I said flatly.

“There goes your New Year’s resolution.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

The chants rose—signalling the high point of the night, a cacophony of partygoers counting down.

I seized the moment, dragging him by the collar, my hands sliding up his neck as I kissed him.

His grip firmed at my waist.

The tang dissolved on my tongue as their smoky cheers droned into background noise. I focused on the rouse in my throat as the fireworks crackled overhead.

I made a note that this would be the last impulsive decision of 2025.

[bhavna-writes]

I missed the school bus.

My mom shunned me—bolt—

or I would be reprimanded at school.

Ushered early to bed by eight,

not paid a clean slate

enough to wake up late,

even on Christmas Day.

Friends didn’t root for me;

I was glued

to the ground.

I deadpanned: Peter Pan is a strange lad,

but plainly, I loathe

the morose faint crawl of growing old.

My childhood wounds haven’t healed.

The nurses pitched me a placebo:

“Nothing a band-aid won’t fix.”

If that were true,

why do I still have knee-deep scars,

stitched without anesthesia,

while others were allowed painkillers?

The first aid kit

only scraped the skin.

Now my screams are muted with betadine.

I’d fancy a fracture—

a chance for someone

to sign my cast.

Blurs of houses fogged past us,

like raindrops on the window pane.

I reached—

they slipped away.

I was castaway

to a foreign town,

esteemed—

an outsider,

peering at my age-mates

leaping forward—

while I regressed,

hit the ground.

Mess up the bus schedule

and be pushed out,

asked where I came from.

I missed school today.

I returned by car—

back when my mom used to drive.

[bhavna-writes]

“Yo bro,” I say as I skate past Mark, skidding onto the pavement.

“Watch it, man,” he and Ronan yell in unison, doubling over in laughter as I trip and tumble onto the sidewalk.

“You okay there, buddy?” Mark asks, eyebrows creased with worry.

—

My nearly broken knee says otherwise, but I muster up a weak smile.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t sweat it.”

He doesn’t buy it — he knows me too well to shrug it off.

“Ah, that doesn’t work on me, Dean,” he says, gliding closer and steadying my balance.

“Appreciate it.”

“Oof. That fall was nasty,” Ronan says, already sounding like he’s storing it away for the next showdown.

I’d only picked up rollerskating last summer on the coast. I didn’t want to slow the boys down. Injuries were part of the process — as far as I was told.

“D’ya think we should call it a day?” Mark suggests.

The sun is already dipping, a faint arc settling over the rink. Half past six — Ronan’s peak hour for a cig break.

Mark and I tag along, begrudgingly, hanging back by the joint room.

“Don’t believe everything your bio textbooks say, you prune,” Ronan says, rolling his eyes.

We’d gotten used to each other’s company since last break. There was no turning back now.

“So, Mark — how’s your mom doing?”

“Alright, I guess. Overworking herself as usual. Dad’s lunching with us tomorrow.”

“And you, Ronan?”

He laughs. “I’ll spill the deets over a cig. Sound good?”

“Hmph.”

At the end of the day, we move on.

You could say we rode off into the sunset.

[bhavna-writes]

I am not a puzzle piece missing

that you solve by connecting to me.

I am not a shard of broken pieces

you fix by merging with me.

I am not a mystery case

you crack the moment I open up.

I am not an escape room—

entered, figured out,

left once you unlock the final key.

I am not a riddle you fiddle with

to master the tricks of my trade.

I am not a perfect match

you can click with by pairing with me.

I am a secret you cannot keep.

A secluded island

hidden behind Lakshadweep.

I am an uncharted cove—

you cannot test my waters;

I run oceans deep.

[bhavna-writes]

The Carnival

ice lollies, carousels

sapphic love, rebounds

drama queen, a drug fiend

snapped mid-trance, whiplash

wanderlust, tongue lush with licorice

crushed ice, sex on the beach

diet pepsi, replaying film reels

rewind the tape to that movie scene

tickets for two, please

swirling cotton candy

swooning on a clash royale field

ride, either route, go, you’re crazy

ruined mascara, package deal

the crashing ferris wheel

took one for the team, put on a show for me

spectators watch but can’t stop, you see?

head reels; the teddy bear seethes

devilish, toss the rings—wreathed

the manic pixie summer dream

rainbow-colored chromatic theme

5-star reviews from the bored, horny teens

[bhavna-writes]

Wash the dishes.

 Scour and scrub

  till your fingers are numb.

Take shower.

 Soak and float

  for hours

   till your nails scum.

Mop the floor.

 Flop the slop,

  absorb every sod,

   till your arms plunge.

Learn the drums.

 Bash and batter the keys,

  till your veins thrum.

Exercise everyday.

 Train and drain,

  till your muscles gain only pain.

Practice ballet.

 Mount and encircle the valet,

  till your nerves disarray.

[bhavna-writes]

I choked

on sentiments in my throat

Unnerved, reposed,

Distraught to words unknown

Stuck, lump swallowed clumps

Shards of glass, water broke

Drown sorrows in a bottle

Put a lid on the ordeal

Nagged, “don’t hold back”

A scene abstained from all refrains

Kicked to the curb, kept in check

Damage done, spat out, vexed

Forks clattered, sins atoned

Can’t take back promises revoked

So, miss the person you believe you know

[bhavna-writes]

[bhavna-writes]

“treat others the way you want to be treated”

Kindness is a lie — wolves skin the sheep alive.

The good die young — the cruel are kept like jewels.

Brutally honest.

My constructive criticism

deconstructs.

I give you tough love ‘cause I like it rough.

I won’t be your fool — I’ll have my way with you.

Can’t call my bluff —

poker face doesn’t fold.

I don’t give a fuck.

You must know.

Outbursts of rage — I don’t moderate.

An eye for an eye — call me Shylock.

Revenge avenges my unorthodox.

Call me toxic —

the toxins in my lungs have settled in.

I don’t forgive.

I don’t forget.

Hatred infects me like smallpox.

Jealousy is a green-eyed monster.

Envy is the one that talks.

I don’t wish the worst on my enemy —

I gamble on their downfall.

Not a lover, not a fighter —

spite is the language I’m fluent in.

If staying silent is the only option,

I break the unspoken law.

Painful reality, human rights don’t reach everyone.

I’d kill for me —

shades of grey overrule what’s right or wrong.

[bhavna-writes]

Okay completely out of curiosity but your username sounds Indian... I'm Indian too... its do pretty to see us... and I checked your writings you write amazing!!!!

Thank you so much !!! Yeah, I am American Indian actually. I was born and raised in the us, but my ethnicity and origin is Indian.