Water under the bridge by Neha Varadharajan (14, India)

Let the stone hear you. Let it wash away your apology and walk under the sands your beach used to love and want. Listen to the rumble, the music of the waves, and stand over the iron beams that glance into the concert that unfolds. ​

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It never was that good at forgiving. Silence was its deliverance since the beginning of time. When we crawl over and let our hair free and wet over the blue sands preceding the gold, our hands letting go of the bars and feet tumbling over, it just whispers and the water churns to your words as if it were a gorgeous ballad of apathy.