April 2010 Issue
We are back and this time with an “Empty Box” . You heard us right, we are themed “An empty box” this month of april. Find yourself reading a whole bunch of entries around this abstract theme and see the different manifestations these boxes take. Read, enjoy and tell us what you think 
Click on the link to read the magazine
How Empty is an Empty Box??
–Archana Ramasubramanian
An Empty Gift Box is to fool..
An Empty Lunch Box is a chance to escape the routine..
An Empty Black Box adorns trendy living rooms..
An Empty Jewel Box is a girl’s delight..
An Empty Complaint Box brings on a Smile..
An Empty Tool Box is innovation..
An Empty School Box is real education..
An Empty Cereal Box is health gained..
An Empty Paint Box leads to delighted eyes and soul..
An Empty Charity Box creates a helping hand..
An Empty Watch Box is an Artist’s..
An Empty Thought Box is bliss..
An Empty Heart Box is a fresh new life..
An Empty Time Box is an Earned perspective..
An Empty Mind Box leads to ultimate happiness..
An Empty Life Box is a Lie…
An Empty Box is a Beginning never an End!
Shored
By Debleena Dasgupta
I’ve travelled to the shores of men,
Travelled beyond the seas;
The world is such a festive fair,
Bright lights looming everywhere,
Whetting dreams bold and bare,
Billowing, never to cease.
My mast stood tall, my flag flew high,
My journey seemed unending;
Each nook and cranny had I searched,
Atop the towers had I perched,
Had pushed my sails until I lurched,
And watched the flame ascending.
Gems and jewels strewn about,
Grabbed them lest they vanished;
Each dawn spelt a gilded chase,
My face etched in frenzied craze,
Stopped not I to cast my gaze,
Upon the walk I banished.
From time of yore have I sung,
The song of wretched lives,
Hauled too did I the trove of might,
Slept in power many a night,
Thrived in sniggering, dark delight,
That quietly, masked, arrives.
I trod upon the cringing men,
Felled both friend and foe,
What kith, what kin, all skittle clan,
My stride guides me to grander plans,
My shadow flickers, dim and wan,
As alone on I go.
****************************************
Past my purple coloured days
I lie now spent, ashore;
My ship has sunk, my flag is torn,
The trove has rotted, all gems gone,
The king is dwarfed to a mere pawn,
My torch burns no more.
An empty box, all that’s left
Of me, a dismal stance;
Bereft of all jewels am I,
Those folks with whom I learnt to fly,
My soul utters a plangent cry,
And looks at me askance.
And were I to rise again
And cross the tides of fate,
A chest to hold my humble past,
My yawl would glide in oceans vast,
Awning sky would see my last,
An empty box my weight.
BOXED
By Macademia the nut
You may not believe it now, but the Box once contained precious little sparkles. Sparkles, which made it glow with an iridescence that drew everyone to it.
People were curious. “What,” they wondered, “is making it shine so?”
But there were others who were not happy. “We cannot let the Box become so popular,” they said. “It’s we who must possess the sparkles that are within the Box! It is we who must glow!”
So they plotted and schemed to break the Box and take away its sparkles. They waited and waited, until one day they found the little Box all alone. They took it up a hill and threw it down from the top. The Box fell hurtling down. It hit boulders, rolled over thorns and stones and slid to a stop at the edge of a huge lake. But it did not break.
This enraged the people further. “Use a hammer!”
“No use a saw.”
“Set fire to it!” they yelled. But the Box remained unbreakable—battered, torn, and sullied, but still locked and glowing.
Suddenly they heard voices. The others were coming in search of their Box. Run, they whispered. We will find another way to get the Box alone again.
So they began to spread rumors.
“The Box contains sins,” they said. “It’s the devil’s own trap.”
“It will be the downfall of us all,” cried others.
Slowly but steadily, the crowd around the Box dwindled.
“There can be no smoke without fire,” they all said.
Day by day people stopped visiting the Box until, one day, it was all alone.
“Why don’t you like me anymore?” it cried.
“Go away!” yelled the people and pelted it with stones.
Two tiny teardrops rolled out of the Box. As they trailed down its side, a secret latch popped from within, and the Box slowly opened.
The watching people drew back with a collective gasp.
“Sorcery!” they whispered as they backed away.
For a second or two nothing happened. Then, out rolled two of the most beautiful things they had every seen in their lives—the sparkles that were inside the Box. They shimmered and blazed with an unearthly radiance.
The people ran to posses them. They fought with each other to be the first to claim the two sparkles. But when they looked up the next time, they were gone!
“Where are the sparkles?” they asked the Box. “What were they?”
The Box said nothing at first. The people advanced angrily towards it, demanding an answer. And the Box began to speak.
“You were my people,” began the Box, “My very own. The two sparkles were planted inside me because of the way you made me feel.
One was called Happiness, the other was Love.”
“Today you’ve taken both away from me. You will never revel in my glow again, nor will you ever possess your own little sparkles!”
Saying this the Box turned away and walked. It didn’t know where to go but it kept walking. It walked from the only family it had known. It walked from its friends.
And I walked and I walked until I could walk no more.
I had no tears left to cry … just a hollow where I once held love for my people.
I am just an empty Box now.
