The story of the trees.

The story of the trees.
Share a story with me in the comments section. Any story, any genre, your choice.


The leaves were falling everywhere
the trees were all heartbroken
the wind blew every once in a while
and often gossipped with the sun.
She loved autumn and wore trench coats
and smiled at the beauty of tragedies.

It was a Sunday morning
– a blind date
Her wrists were clenched
around the hem of her top
Her eyes danced frantically
to the thump of her heart
and she bit on her lip
red lipstick and a drop of blood.
‘Fat’ and ‘Single’ usually ran across the streets
fingers were often pointed at her.

He had chosen the park
as the witness to their first date
the heartbroken trees all rustled and whispered
stories of love and war
they said “We knew Romeo
His story wasn’t that of love
Shakespeare romanticized insanity beautifully
you sit beside us and wait for yours to show,
but learn from Romeo’s mistakes.
Juliet died,
our leaves left us
Make sure you don’t abandon yourself.”

Did he show up?
No.
But that day she danced her way to home.


Instagram handle: @myspirals
Previous post: A nomad’s home
Related post: the last sunset

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A nomad’s home.

A nomad’s home.

For the last seventeen years, my father has had a nomad heart with a paternal intention. In human terms, it means he loves changing cities but the new homes that he finds for me have only one common criterion: growth. From Delhi to Chennai to Dubai to Delhi again, I have seen more shades of cities than emotions.

Migration usually is made of a lot of nostalgia and little to no belief in a better future. When I shifted back to India, I was a twelve-year-old who had just left his home to live in a house. It was still comparatively easier because it took me a day and some food to make new friends.

The best thing about Delhi was that I had best friends for the very first time. That is when I read my first proper novel too because the book ‘Goosebumps’ doesn’t count. I had a crush and my heart broken for the very first time too, and I strongly recommend it to everybody. Don’t hate me for it.

More importantly, I fell in love. I fell in love with a girl, the city and everything in between. When I was ten, home was a four-walled apartment. Two years later, it was a city I had just migrated from. That is what being a nomad means. A nomad’s home is an anxious writer who edits his story even after the twentieth draft. When I fell in love, my home became two arms and a steady (and sometimes fast and loud) heartbeat.

Three years into memories of Delhi, my parents decided to shift again. Surprise? Not at all. I never made any friends again and I spent the next two years being nostalgic and the saddest kid you would ever see. But as I caught up to speed to a new city and entered seventeen, something inside me clicked and I realized I can’t do this anymore. I cannot try to make a home every time I shift and then brood over it for some time. More importantly, I cannot stay in the same place.

I became what my dad was. My home is now blurry memories, nostalgia and a thirst to find new places to live. I became a nomad.


Instagram handle: @myspirals
Previous post: A tale of the five senses – 2
Related post: Earth.

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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.

The rainbow is here.

I don’t often write things based off of the current festival, or nation month but today is different. I choose my platform to announce to the world that the rainbow has arrived in India. Homosexuality is no longer a crime. Hope you like this, and congratulations!


Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code is a section of the Indian Penal Code introduced in 1861 during the British rule of India. Modelled on the Buggery Act of 1533, it criminalized sexual activities “against the order of nature”, including homosexual sex.

Today is a happy day.
The rainbow is here.
The sun has decided to shine again
with rays of equal rights, humanity and unfiltered love.
Back in 1861, India was caught in a rainstorm,
Love had to pay the price.
One hundred and fifty seven years of forbidden love stories,
And stories that never took place. Continue reading The rainbow is here.