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Sunday, March 29th, 2026
Winner: Weekly Poems Contest #35
by Drashti Sharma
This Thursday, I spent my morning watching the white-light concept from an encyclopedia. I shrieked over the birdsong hitting and indulging in my ears— a quiet temptation to walk out when my mother had already said no— the cavity in the blanket of the blue, nowadays, is not merciful. I don't like March, especially the week I'm living on. I keep underestimating my skin for being too tactile, as my mother said no going out! Oh, let me take the sun in my hands as if it wouldn't burn me, because it is already a sin of the week, not letting a girl go out. So I settle for what is grounded here at my study table. Looking at the cracked cup, I feel accomplished as it has a sun on its face— a cosmic way to break apart the light and irritate my favorite amaryllis. Oh, I cannot explain the snap of atmosphere outside, thrilling like a cricket match my father craves to watch. The way the curtains of my room kiss the floorboards and the void of titters outside the wooden ribs of my window— and as I see myself turning into something small for the sun, I can bet that next week will irritate as much as this one.
Biography of the Poet
Drashti Sharma is a young poet from Gujarat, India. A student with a keen eye for the "bruised light" of domesticity,
her work seeks to find the honest landscapes within four walls, often favoring the tethered and the small over the vastness of clichés.
Her poetry is forthcoming in Eunoia Review (April 2026). When she isn't writing,
she is usually observing the world from her study table, leaning into the quiet rebellions of the everyday.
Keywords: domesticity, mothers, daughters, ennui, spring
Previously Published in Weekly Poems:
"A Teacher on Recess Duty" by Breanna Scott
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