Because I’m a magician.

Because I’m a magician.

I’ve been thinking about magic tricks for a while and this was one of the two parts I came up with. Sometime in the future, I will definitely write the other story if you want me to, but till then, I do hope you enjoy this!


Jaadugar – a magician”.

In 1999, when I was ten, my dad took me to a magic show. The show was at four in the morning and I tried convincing him to let me sleep but nothing worked that day. “Rahim, this jaadugar will change your life!” he said and we went for the show. Turns out, he was right. Twenty years later – today – I’m the magician.

What people forget about magicians is that our most prominent trick is one that almost everyone has mastered. It’s sawing love stories in half for some and healing hearts for others. We break hearts and we have broken hearts too. So yes, this is my love story.

Continue reading Because I’m a magician.

Some breathing space.

Some breathing space.

Hey! Thank you for waiting up for me this past week. I guess I needed some breathing space. I’m back, though. I used my state of mind the past week to write a little something today! It’s about how some breathing space can do people a word of good – especially for those who rely on others a lot. I hope you like this poem! Do tell me if you did in the comments section! I would love to hear what you have to say.


She asked for some breathing space
the first time we fought.

This ‘breathing space’
reminded me a lot of museums.
I could see her,
look at the things she liked to do,
but I wasn’t allowed to touch anything.
I saw her shopping, dancing, drinking,
and I saw her smiling.
I had no one to go shopping with
so I hid my shopping bags under my eyes.
I had no one to dance or drink with,
so I kept empty vodka bottles in my lonliness.
I was a mess.

Continue reading Some breathing space.

Too much.

Too much.

It’s been a while. Hey! I hope you like this. It’ll mean a lot to me if you can share this with your friends through the buttons at the bottom of every post. Do share if you like it and let me know if you did in the comments section. Also, tell me what breaks your heart. Enjoy!


Steve was heartbroken the day Husky died but was always afraid to admit it because he believed heartbreaks had become cliché. There were too many poets writing about it, too many eyes crying over it, too many stories ending because of it. He believed heartbreaks had become ‘too much’ and he was born a minimalist.

Continue reading Too much.

It is okay.

It is okay.

You can call this part two of Travel Bird if you want to. In both, we’ve only discussed how you should live. In this particular post, I wanted to talk about so many things we stop ourselves from doing for the weirdest reasons. Don’t stop yourself. Enjoy! And comment, a lot.


Go ahead.
Stand taller than everyone else,
Fall apart.
Feel afraid, or
Alone
Among smiles of
Chapped lips
And wrinkled eyes.
Speak out
Tell us what’s right,
Share your dreams
Nightmares, or
stories of your petty fights.
Praise every other heart that still beats,
And love the music
Pumping through your veins,
Just like it is,
Through every one else’s.
Let your hands fumble on the knob,
And your heart break.
Feel dead,
And then come back to life.
Smile,
Frown.
Be happy at times.
And at times don’t be afraid
to drown.
Do it all, love.
It is okay.


Previous post: Something about Naomi
Instagram: @myspirals

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Mud paint and memories.

Mud paint and memories.

Beth was an artist. On some days, she would take half-filled whiskey bottles and paint her boyfriend’s face on it. The skin would be dark and the nose small, the lips chapped and cheeks flushed. She would color every inch except the small circles in the eyes. She would leave that to the sun and whiskey. It had to resemble his eyes, after all. On other days, she would draw little hearts on her cheeks and let his compliments fill it with color and life. Her favorite piece of art didn’t involve her boyfriend at all, though.

The favorite piece of art was a painting she’d made when she was fourteen. Her dog had just passed away and painting was the only way she could cope with the loss of someone she’d lived with all her life. Her dog, Husky, was a military dog when it was young. Beth’s father had brought him home when he had to (for lack of a better word and to make the dog sound more human) retire. Beth was born a month after Husky came home. They were always fascinated by each other. She had started drawing because of him. On a summer morning when she was just four, she was playing with paper when Husky came running into the house. He ran all over the room, including a paper, with muddy feet and that was her first painting. Paw marks.

When he passed away, she drew his picture. She made the background bright red, just the way he would like it and could almost see him wagging his tail as he went crazy because of the color. She colored everything except his body. For the body, she used the mud from where Husky was buried to give his body its natural color. She had it framed and it still hangs on top of her bed. I’ll leave you with a happy memory, though. 

Ever since Beth was born, she had never had food alone. Husky would always be there to have half of it. He ate everything – ice creams, pie, fruits, socks. Everything.


Related: stay.
Instagram: @myspirals

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