Two best friends and a strange story.

Two best friends and a strange story.

Hell and Heaven were best friends.
Their favorite thing to do together
was talking about poetry
about how some poets can rhyme and still talk
and how some poets don’t like talking.
Hell would often point out
that poetry is like counting the stars Continue reading Two best friends and a strange story.

The last sunset.

The last sunset.

The world wrapped their 9-5
in a fancy gift wrap of “I’m too tired”
as the sun slowly started falling
for someone who didn’t love him back.
Why should he be any different than us?
As the sunset,
everything turned black Continue reading The last sunset.

How to: Be poetry.

What makes you poetry? Let me know in the comments section below. Enjoy!


Hold a paw, and wake up to the woof or the meow of a furry cushion.
Travel, to the closest grocery store open past midnight and buy that candy you used to love as a kid.
Feel.
Let your chapped lips, which has been a Chandler (Straight, but seemed to be otherwise), light up into a crescent moon more often than you used to.
Cry into the lap of your pillow, don’t deprive your cheeks of the season of this rain.
Pick the scab on the wound you got as a hopeless romantic, and fall in love before it heals.
Realize that you have rhyme and reason in this universe.
Find the fire of your soul and let it burn your regrets as it crackles a song into your veins.
Show kindness as a first language in your degree of life. Water a plant and feed a duck for you never know what they’ll do to you in a parallel universe.
Be you.


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Instagram handle: @myspirals, @utsavraj_

Previous post: Languages, medicines and magicians.
Related post: Love thyself.

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Home and him.

It has been a while since I had posted something I’ve written, and I really wanted to. The Whiskey Words is still going on. Tomorrow is the last date to submit, though. Enjoy!


I’ve been asked
time and time again,
How can a person be your home?
Now, how do I explain this?

When I am with him,
I wear comfy pajamas and absolutely no make up.
I confine to the wall of his arms,
and cry with my face buried in his shoulder
like a kid holding a pillow to muffle his screams.
His dimples are the trampoline to my fingers.
Every time Lust and love,
his best-friends, and our guests
come over,
I dress up fancy and serve myself.
Honestly, I just sleep all day in his arms.
And even though I need no-one,
He protects me anyway.
He makes sure I walk on the right side of the street,
And that my hair is tucked behind my ear.
Home isn’t built in a day,
and neither were we.
Like wizards without their chosen wands,
And Ross without Rachel,
I am alright without him,
but completely empty inside.
If I was a goddamn house,
he would be my furniture.
Like a sailor on a quivering boat,
in a black night storm,
I miss him when he isn’t around.

What else do you get homesick for,
if not a home?
And I love him so much,
with all my heart.
Home is where the heart is.

So yeah, he is my home.
Two arms, wavy hair, brown eyes,
breathy voice and a musical heartbeat.


Also, I have thought about doing a little something on the side. I’ve written an erotica and published it on Wattpad (you can read it even if you don’t have an account), and might convert it into a series if you guys like it. Do read and respond by leaving comments here or on wattpad. Go there by clicking : here.

Then how come it isn’t?

Friends, if you like reading my work, do share it with your friends (on whatever social media you deem appropriate). Please help my infinity grow bigger ∞


The last time I kissed her, I kissed her with a little more passion than our lungs could hold on to. I let my hands pull her in, and my eyes close to make sure I remembered what she was like.
She tasted like a Monday morning I didn’t hate and dirty coffee mugs of the night before. She tasted like grocery shopping where we ended up with just a stick of gum, and the cashier gave our smiles and giggles a weird glance cause clearly we shouldn’t shop at 3 A.M? She tasted of sunrays and tanned skin, and of crazy ways to seduce each other. She tasted like a cold November night on the terrace with my arms around her and her head on my chest and our eyes on the stars. She tasted like broken frames and mended hearts and salty tears and not being able to stay apart.
She reminded me of the time I ran my fingers through her hair, and she ran her fingers through the knots in my souls. She reminded me of the time I kissed her salty skin right after coming out of the sea, and her fingers holding onto my wet hair and pulling me in. She reminded me of sleeping all day and watching Barney all night. She reminded me of soft chuckles, and loud moans.
She was my ‘Irish’ coffee and she was the Rachel to my Ross. She reminded me of moonlight on her knees as I trailed my fingers up. She reminded me of empty bottles and half-eaten snickers. She reminded me of promises that smelled of chocolate cookies and assurances of being in Wonderland if I ever fell again.
She tasted like an eternity and reminded me of the fault in our stars. We could not end up together, but we did have a bigger infinity than we ever imagined we could have. She was the Robin to my Barney and the little forever she gave me was legen – wait for it – dary.
Didn’t you think you’d meet someone, fall in love and that’d be it?


Previous post : Fairy-tale love.
Related post : Kisses and cravings.