person Arushi Singh, two poems

Two of my poems


A passionate writer and literature enthusiast, Arushi Singh has been experimenting with free style poetry for a few years. She is from Delhi, India, and is currently studying literature at Mount Carmel College, Bangalore.  She has had her poetry published in magazines like Page and Spine, Literary Yard, One Sentence Poems, Fourth and Sycamore and others.  Her first poetry collection, Deviant: the obscenity of truth, is available on Amazon.



it was ten minutes since they said my mother was
“probably dead”
Whereas, we walked on bomb craters to find our way back to the
Skeleton of our home
Whereas, it was dark then, it is dark now
Whereas, the ribbons from my gaypride flag exploded in his ears
Whereas, life was lonely when you took it
Whereas, loneliness is still a heartbeat of the soul
Whereas, dreams were still dreams if you woke into them
Whereas, he…

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A Ballad of suicide letters “When the soul suffers too much, it develops a taste for misfortune.”  ― Albert Camus, The First Man  I had twenty in my pocket, ten in my veins, and one in my heart. Happiness was another taste. I was an absurdist at heart. I knew nothing made sense. Nothing amounted … Continue reading Bereft

person Arushi Singh, one poem

Published in isacoustic!


Arushi Singh, a poet, book reviewer, and literature student from India, has poems forthcoming in Radius: Poetry from the centre to the edge and Chiron Review, and currently in The Big Windows Review, Literary Yard, Fourth and Sycamore, Anti-Heroin Chic, Cat on A Leash and others.



Mother is what comes
Before and after my face
Father is the aftermath of break in my umbilical
Mother holds and kisses his face
The contractions are not yet bad enough
Mother smiles- two crescents, halfway up like a
hanging boat ride
Father will remember this day
Years of hard distance between them
dissipating in the wetness of one
Mother starts to crumple, my sister can see the wrinkles
On her face
Father arches his eyebrows
Mother lets out a howl like a
Wolf looking for the moonlight
Father passes out in fear
A man- too many…

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The first time I was touched I didn’t know what it meant I knew I knew It was something wrong A storm through a broken Wind chime An old rhyme The second time I was touched I knew the word “molestation” I knew I knew The most dangerous words in the dictionary Were “uncle”, “cousin” … Continue reading Virginal


You rest your fingertip on the first button. Rest it on its lips tearing it open with a violence with a force not yet known to you the second one wilts in fear but your fingers scream unrelenting the countdown begins by the time you reach the last life has taken another meaning a car … Continue reading Buttons