Oreos&OxyeyeDaisies

When the game grows fierce and your steps grow wild, And the world watches, eager, their faces beguiled, If your laces betray you, if they loosen and stray, Know, my love, I’ll be there to smooth the fray. I’ll kneel on the field as the crowd roars on, With fingers tender, though the moment is drawn. Each knot I’ll weave will hold more than a tie.  It’ll bind my devotion beneath an open sky. Your sweat may fall, your breath may race, But I’ll steady your steps in love’s quiet grace. For in every loop, in every thread I lace, Lives the rhythm of my heart, your steadfast space When you stumble on paths no one else dares tread, I’ll clear the stones, smooth the road ahead. When the sun burns harsh and the shadows grow long, I’ll shield your face, humming your favorite song Let the game rage on, let the stakes run high, Let the ball soar like a dream in the sky. But when you falter, my hands will be true, To tie your shoes and my soul to you. So play with passion, leap, and strive, For...

HOW DO I KNOW ALL OF THIS? MUMMA PAPA NE BATAYA AUR FILMO NE DIKHAYA Love in the ‘90s was a different art, When writing a letter took days to start. Waiting days for a reply, hands trembling with hope, A romance built on patience, not an instant scroll or poke Love in the ‘90s was poetry in disguise, A world of simple gestures, unspoken ties. No “typing...” stress or double blue ticks, Just heartfelt confessions with innocent tricks. When eyes met across a crowded school hall, It felt like fate, no algorithms at all. Letters inked with care carried hearts in their flight, Each word a whisper, every comma a delight. You’d sit with a pen, pour your heart on a page, And hope it reached before you turned another age. No swiping right, just a nervous landline call, And praying their dad didn’t answer at all. Dates weren’t coffee shops or sleek, modern scenes, It was the park bench, samosas, and cheap jeans. A mixed tape was the pinnacle of affection, Crafted with patience, track-by-tra...

I miss you maa :) I spoke in whispers, too little, too late, Wishing I’d known how near the gate, Where time would close and steal away The chance for words I didn’t say. Unanswered goodbyes linger in the air, Like unsent letters I couldn’t share. Regret's heavy hand rests on my chest, For the moments I lost, the love unexpressed. I thought I had time, but it slipped away, Now I’m left with words I can’t convey. Your chair still sits by the windowpane, But it’s empty now, and so is the frame. Of the life we could have shared much more, Yet I stand alone by this open door. In this hollowed heart of a home, I roam, Seeking your warmth but finding none. The walls are quiet, but they hold the truth That love delayed is love I lose. Unanswered goodbyes, forever they’ll stay, A silence of regrets, too hard to allay.  "So…," she started, drawing out the word as if it were a string she was about to pluck. "Is there someone? You know, someone more than just a friend?" He...

In the cold embrace of January’s chill , where frost adorns the night,   To be surrounded by just a few is like a hearth’s warm light.   A small circle, close and true, is like a cozy cabin’s glow,   Where every crackling ember tells a story only, they know. In February’s fleeting thaw, when winter’s grip begins to break,   To welcome a few new faces is like a fresh, awakening lake.   Each new friend is a budding flower, just beginning to unfold,   Adding new hues to the winter scene, like threads of silver and gold. As March breathes life into spring with a whispering breeze,   A small circle of friends is like a garden of emerging seeds.   Each one a promise, gently sprouting through the thawing earth,   Nurtured in quiet company, preparing for their bloom’s worth. In April’s dance of showers and bloom, where colours start to sing,   A few cherished friends are like rainbows that sof...

They call him Rude Ralph, the mischief king, But is he as bad as they often sing? Sure, he’s got a laugh that’s loud and bold, But let’s look at the truth, let’s have it told. Ralph once gave Henry a toad in a box, “Just a joke!” he said, amid giggles and squawks. But when Henry was down and feeling blue, Ralph was the friend who always came through. They say he’s rude, but he’s really just blunt, Like a comic book hero on a wild stunt. When Susan lost her lunch, and tears did stream, Ralph shared his sandwich, with extra cream. He’s like a volcano, fiery and loud, But inside he’s as gentle as a summer cloud. Like a firework, he may seem too bright, But he lights up the dark and makes it all right. Remember the time he yelled, “Boo!” at the fair? The lady jumped high, almost lost her hair. But later that day, when she was in need, Ralph carried her bags, a true friend indeed. He’s a bit like licorice, strong and tough, But sweet at the core, if you taste enough. His jokes might be wild...

In the town of Varanasi, where love’s on parade,   Lived Kundan the romancer, a poetic charade,   With a heart full of dreams and a head full of plans,   He’s chasing his crush like a sitcom with fans. He’s writing her letters that she’ll never read,   And gifting her roses, though they’re mostly weed,   He’s proposing in poetry, where rhymes go astray,   It’s like Shakespeare and Dr. Seuss had a bizarro ballet. Zoya’s just trying to live her own life,   While Kundan’s still caught in a world of his strife,   He’s chasing her around with a love so intense,   It’s like a rom-com where logic takes a long holiday fence. BUT............................. In the same lanes of Varanasi, where love's supposed to bloom, Kundan’s steps turned sour, like a scent of impending gloom, He chased after Zoya with a fervor unkind, His romantic pursuits, well, they crossed the line. He lurked in the shadows, in every...

In a grand mansion, all shiny and bright, Little Kevin’s left home alone for the night, His family’s off on a holiday spree, Leaving him with a house that’s one big DIY spree. Kevin’s the kid who’s got plans and flair, Turning his home into a trap-filled lair, With marbles and paint cans, his traps are a hoot, The burglars are doomed this kid’s on the pursuit! Harry and Marv, oh what a pair, Like two clowns with a penchant for despair, They stumble and fumble, their faces all bruised, By Kevin’s clever traps, they’re thoroughly confused. "Home Alone" is basically the cinematic equivalent of leaving your toddler with a pack of wild raccoons and saying, “Good luck!” The film is a charmingly chaotic tale of a kid, Kevin McCallister, who’s left alone in his family’s lavish house while his relatives go on vacation. Spoiler alert: the raccoons are replaced by two hapless burglars, but the chaos is just as entertaining. Let’s start with Kevin, the pint-sized mastermind. He’s like a...

नाता बेतुकी दिल्लगी से तोड़ना जाने ना आने वाले कल की फ़िकर से जोड़ना जाने ना Under moonlit skies, we dance and sway, Embracing life in a carefree way, With laughter loud and spirits high, Ye Jawani Hai Deewani, we cry. Friendships forged in fires bright, In the tapestry of endless night, Memories etched as time flies by, Ye Jawani Hai Deewani, we fly. With dreams unbound and hearts set free, In the present moment, we just be, Through ups and downs, we dare and try, Ye Jawani Hai Deewani , we reply. So when the journey seems too tough,  And every stride feels not enough,  Remember this, as you wander far,  Mera falsafaa kandhe pe mera basta  Chala main jahaan le chala mujhe rasta. In every breath, in every mile,  We face the world with steady smile. And though the future's veil may hide,  Our spirits strong, we will abide,  Kal pe sawaal hai, jeena filhaal hai, 

Beneath the moon's gentle and silvery light,   Dreams dance with sorrow, in a beautiful plight.   For love, though sweet, oft carries its thorn,   Ae dil hai mushkil, in a heart so worn. The heart, a wanderer in a world so vast,   Clings to memories, of a love that won’t last.   In every beat, a reminder so clear,   Ae dil hai mushkil, yet we persevere. For in the trials of love, strength we find,   In the dance of the heart, with the soul intertwined.   Though the journey is tough, and the road is long,   Ae dil hai mushkil, but it makes us strong. So let the heartache, in its glory, be sung,   For in every struggle, a new hope is begun.   Ae dil hai mushkil, but through love's pure art,   We find in the end, the resilience of the heart. And as we walk this path so free,   With eyes wide open, hearts carefree.   We find the truth, we finally see,...

 In the quiet of her room, dreams took flight, A young filmmaker spun tales in the night. With passion aflame and a heart full of light, She painted the world in black and white. Each day she crafted scenes with care, Directing life with a visionary’s stare. Angles shifted, stories refined, A cinematic universe uniquely designed. In shadows and light, her stories unfurled, Visions of grandeur, a new, vivid world. A lens in her hand, an artist’s pure gaze, Transforming the mundane into a dazzling blaze. But fate’s cruel hand came, dark and swift, Snatching away her dreams, her precious gift. A life full of promise, cut far too short, A storyteller silenced; dreams left to thwart. She'd wake each morning, with a script in mind, A new narrative, fresh scenes to find. Adjusting the angle, perfecting the shot, Every frame a masterpiece, each line a thought. Yet now her room lies silent, cold, No more stories left to be told. The camera rests, its film unspent, A poignant symbol of dream...

 Life has been great, but am I really living? Does my so-called life revolve around counting days, listening to Rahman on a good day, and One direction on a bad one? Or writing something that has already been written, or forming opinions on something that has already made the rounds on the internet? Or forcing my brain and heart to coordinate themselves in order to write on days when I feel like prose is a refuge, or maybe an excuse for people who don't know how to rhyme better?     Life has been great, but does it practically sound the same too? Does my so-called life revolve around reading biographies of people and copy-pasting their ways on a good day and disliking them on a bad one? Or cribbing out something that is already a blazing issue in the market, or purchasing something only when the public discarded it from the trend and it's not a vibe anymore? Or forcing my brain and heart to coordinate themselves in order to fake feeling happy on days when I feel like happ...

ONCE UPON A TIME I HAD AN ID CELLARDOORPHY [TO SOUND BEAUTIFUL DIGITALLY. STRANGE!!]  FABULOUS LIVES OF BOLLYWOOD WIVES https://www.instagram.com/p/CWGNS4-h1Uh/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA== WHAT INDIAN CINEMA GAVE US IN THE NAME OF CINEMA? https://www.instagram.com/p/CZCd1_GhiuP/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA== LACK OF CONCEPTS IN BOLLYWOOD? https://www.instagram.com/p/CPYT6p5jcRd/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA== WHAT MAKES MAGARITA WITH A STRAW A LITTLE DIFFERENT? https://www.instagram.com/p/CP3Jc8DD-e-/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA== BAAI FROM MODERN LOVE MUMBAI  https://www.instagram.com/p/CfbzsSIhsBm/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA== QISSA https://www.instagram.com/p/COS1VBijqTo/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA== Why isn't Sania wearing her sharara? Stay tuned to find out in our upcoming short film 'Sharara'? https://www.instagram.com/p/...