The Universe, Tucked Between My Walls
Memories folded like pressed flowers,
tucked away in secret.
This space is mine –
Neither borrowed, nor shared, not measured in relation to anyone.
The wind wakes the flowers gently,
nudging them toward a sun they do not fear.
A wild vine creeps up my walls,
and I do not cut it down.
I tell it to climb higher,
Circle back from Jupiter,
bring me stories from the stars.
The furniture hums with the hands that made it,
chiseled by knowing, steady pride.
A suncatcher plucks threads of the sky,
weaving red, yellow, violet light onto my shelf-
a silent confession from the heavens
about the books I keep.
Three posters, three pieces of me,
The Star for the things I achieve,
The Moon, tides of my feelings,
And The sun for my highest self,
Wind chimes stir like whispered spells,
turning air into music,
solitude into something holy.
Bani Kaur
Bani is a storyteller and journalist-in-the-making from New Delhi, whose work dances between vulnerability and rebellion. With a heart too wild for silence, she writes about identity, survival, and the unsaid weight women carry in a fractured world. When she’s not unraveling the human psyche through words, you’ll find her chasing mountain skies, brewing strange teas, and questioning everything we call ‘normal.’
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