Existential crisis

Existential crisis

A big thank you to Heena for nominating me for the Blogger Recognition Award. Go check her blog out. I nominate Benefits with brain because of her lovely work. Click here for the rules : rules. Also, comment below if you’ve ever gone through an existential crisis. Enjoy!


Existential crisis.
One winter night,
Inside the folded pages of darkness and the moon,
On a terrace made of stone and expectations,
I lay under the stars,
As they looked down on me.
I gazed and felt
The cold wind’s hand on my speedbag face,
The curves of darkness and its nakedness,
The bare existence of my soul
that lay hidden inside the crumpled bed-sheets of this beautiful night.
I wondered and worried,
About things bigger than my eye-lashes and 11:11 wishes,
About things more important than betrayal and revenge,
About my mere existence.
Am I Chekhov’s gun?
(If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall,
then in the following one it should be fired.
If I exist,
I matter.)
Or am I a gun people keep hidden in drawers,
To mark their authority and ensure their security?
Are guns needed at all?
Am I even a gun?
What am I?
I looked for answers
Inside the folded pages of darkness and the moon.


Instagram handle: @myspirals
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Related post : Languages, medicines and magicians.

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I have some questions.

I have some questions.

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What made me fall so crazily in love with you?
Was it the way your wrinkled eyes,
And the curve of your smile looked exactly the same,
Or was it the way you traced your fingers down by back,
Like a map to the end of a rainbow?

How have I listened to your stories everyday,
about how you only ate half a sandwich,
and what your shitty job has to offer,
But never written my own?

Why have I poured and poured myself,
Into the infinity that you are,
And never realized that I was almost empty?

When did I stop holding myself together,
stop being my own tape and glue,
Just to stop you from falling apart?

How have I been everything for you,
And nothing for myself?

Why are you the protagonist,
in my biography?

Did I really mess myself up this bad?


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A new shade.

Is it just me who’s blind,
Or did the world go blind too?
I don’t know where,
or how to look for the answer,
without my eyes.

The wind can speak,
And the leaves can gossip.
The sun can giggle,
And the clouds can cry.
How has this remained
a secret for so long?
Every breath I take
Now has a papery taste,
Dry and evident.
Every word I speak,
Now sounds like an echo,
That fills the room
With its existence.
Every giggle that I hear,
Tickles my ear,
And makes me feel the joy
That it is made of.
How have I never been
So alive before?
I’ve tripped on the stairs,
That I had jumped over
A thousand times before,
Did it move?
The walls feel a bit too close,
And colors a bit too far.
Darkness has a strange color.
It reminds me of the night,
But also the day.
But mostly, it reminds me of the sky
Infinite.
Darkness is a void,
The other senses can only try to fill.
How is it that we’ve never
seen this shade before?

Is it just me who’s blind,
Or did the world go blind too?
I don’t know where,
or how to look for the answer,
without my eyes.


Previous post : 11:11s.
Related post : Half.

Friends, if you like reading my work, do share it with your friends (on whatever social media you deem appropriate). It would be amazing to have more people reading my compositions. Please help my infinity grow bigger ∞