The news arrives like thunder.
Red banners. Sharp music.
Voices polished, urgent.
Borders burn. Numbers fall.
A man speaks as if the world fits
inside a sentence.
Power likes height.
Glass rooms. Closed doors.
Words heavy as iron.
Then the screen goes dark.
Outside,
morning clears its throat.
A kettle whistles.
Pigeons argue on a wire.
A bus exhales tired air
and moves on.
Children chase a ball
stitched from tape and hope.
Their laughter rings
like coins dropped on stone—
brief, bright, gone.
A woman rinses rice.
Water clouds, then clears.
The sink listens patiently.
Somewhere behind a wall,
a cough knocks twice
and is answered by silence.
This makes no sound
loud enough for cameras.
In fields,
petals fall like unmailed letters.
No one reads them.
The soil understands.
A river moves past villages
like an old teacher—
never shouting,
never stopping,
changing everyone
who stays close long enough.
Wind lifts seeds
the way breath lifts prayer—
without promise,
without proof.
Inside the city again,
screens glow blue.
Keyboards tick
like cautious rain.
Coffee cools.
Decisions settle into place
as neatly as files.
Science does its work.
Lights come on.
Water runs clear.
Maps behave.
But elsewhere,
something softer decides more.
A pause.
A chair pulled back.
A door left open
longer than required.
Love sounds like this:
a sentence ending gently.
A signature slowed by thought.
A name spoken
as if it belongs to someone.
Power moves like fire—
bright, fast, hungry.
Love moves like water—
finding cracks,
feeding roots,
leaving no scorch marks.
The news will not show
the war that didn’t happen.
The child who slept through the night.
The field that stayed green
because nothing was taken from it.
History will applaud the loud.
Life will survive the quiet.
And somewhere between them,
petals will keep falling,
rivers will keep teaching,
and those who listen—
without being told—
will learn
how much the world changes
when the hand is steady
and the heart is wide.
Himanshu Ranjan lives in Bengaluru, India. He is a poet and a Young India Fellow. His anthology is titled ’36 Love Stories’ in which he has composed thirty-six sonnets and a sestina. His poems have appeared or forthcoming in ‘Eunoia Review,’ ‘Poetry Potion,’ ‘Scarlet Leaf Review,’ and Indrdhanush.’ He loves teaching chemistry. He believes in the magic of science and the journey of spirituality. He dreams of a happy and developed India that coexists with a happy and developed world.