From The Quill

Hey there! Welcome to  From the Quill: Poetry and Musings by Suranya ,  my little nook on the internet where I pour out poems, thoughts, and the occasional mini-tale straight from the heart (and a little bit from the curious corners of my mind!). I’m Suranya. Most of you may already know me from my stories and history-related posts, but here’s something a bit different: poetry and musings. Musings and thoughts often from the deepest corner of my diaries that I have kept through the years, and poetry... It’s a love I stumbled upon rather late, somewhere in my 20s, and it’s been a journey of discovery ever since. I’m still learning, shaping, and experimenting with it, but every verse comes from my faith. Over the years, I’ve been fortunate to have some of my poems find homes in lovely anthologies ( Poets of India, A Puzzle Called Life, Silent Cries, Remember the Roses ) and even pop up on amazing community pages like Byme Poetry, Poetic Reveries,  Poetry Grapevine, The Writ...

Her hand trembled on the white pearl string she held close to her bosom. It had tiny red spots on it, which she could not help but assume to be blood. Some of the war, its reminders of the sins of her kin, had rubbed off on her hand now. She shivered a little, trying not to lose composure. She had lost everything that was not hers to begin with. No amount of praying could now heal her broken heart. She was mourning her love in secret because he was gone, but she was still alive. To be scrutinised for lamenting such a forbidden loss. As long as she was breathing, she had to make sure she played her pawns well. She had to reconcile with her siblings. She had to make friends with the enemies. Anything that would make her relevant, even when deep in her heart, she wanted to slip away into oblivion. The most powerful woman in the world spent the night in the darkness of her room, wine glass in hand, helpless and defeated in the hands of fate. © Suranya Context: On 29th May, 1568, the armies...

This day in 1540, around midnight in the separate quarters of Kumbhalgarh fort, was born a prince who would go on to be his dynasty's most famous king. Not because he won a battle or had a huge kingdom, but because of his resistance against a bigger power, his dream of freedom, his rebellious heart, the qualities that a true leader possesses. Of course, he was not perfect. He was impulsive and often put his heart and emotions above his head and mind. He was sometimes not rational either. You see, rational people don't do selfless things that may harm them. He did. He resisted with all his might. He fought against all odds. He inspired people who came four hundred years after him to fight for freedom. He never had the life of a king, of luxury and privilege. He chose the life in the forest, the guerrilla tactics that forced him to stay away from his family, the life that led him to many personal losses. But he did not feel defeated. That's where he became the man he is. Happ...