It is really obvious why.

It is really obvious why.

“Why do you love me?”

“It’s really obvious why.
Because like moonlight,
you made my scars beautiful.
You tasted like burning scotch
and honesty.
Touching your skin felt like a walk
on cool grass in Summer.
Because you were my metaphor.

You remember how we met?
It was a one-night stand
and after we had sex,
you took a pen and wrote poetry on my waist.
You gave me hickeys and poetry.
You didn’t know how to make me blush,
so you painted my cheeks red
with your lipstick kisses.
When I screamed,
you sang songs to me
and when I cried,
you wiped my tears away with your eyes
and then wrote poems
about how the tides were high today.
It’s often that humans use
words for loyalty
and actions like a back-stabbing knife.
You were different.
When we met, you said you didn’t know how to stay.
Sixty years later,
You’re still holding my hands.

Why do I love you?
It’s really obvious why.
I love you
because I don’t know how not to.”

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Instagram: @myspirals

Give me prompts in the comment section. Oh, and share this a lot, please?


When It Comes to Art.

This poem is partially based on facts. So forgive me if you think it doesn’t have a flow, because I assure you that it does have a point. Enjoy!

A painter from Spain made portraits of himself,
From when he was fifteen to ninety years old.
The first painting was a handsome man,
with dark hair like the night,
And lips that could’ve easily been reciting poetry.
The last painting was an abstract living being,
with darkness etched onto his skin,
And eyes that might’ve been insane.
Some people believe that he did slowly lose his mind,
And some believe that he understood the existence of a man,
In respect to time itself.
What was it, Picasso?

Continue reading When It Comes to Art.

In conversation with: God

In conversation with: God

G: “So, do you have any questions for me?”

Me: “Oh, many.”

God: “Ask.”

Me: “I hear you’re pitching a product in the business meeting. What’s it called?”

G: “Life.”

Me: “Right. How many other gods are there in the meeting with you?”

God: “I don’t know. It’s my first day, too. Maybe it’s just me, maybe there are tens of thousands more.”

Me: “I heard rumors that your product was found faulty in the testing process. Had many mistakes, was known to be unfair and unpredictable.  Why such shitty management?”

G: “Umm.. That was actually on purpose. I can’t tell you the reason, though. You want to hear a crazy fact?”

Me: “Yeah?”

God: “That is how I came up with the tagline! Life isn’t fair. Isn’t that hilarious?”

Me: “Not really. Anyway, here I go. Brace yourself. Why do you give reasons to be grateful to half the world and reasons to hate you to the other half? You give birth to rebellion and jealousy like that’s your favorite pastime. Watch buildings burn down and called history. You give me tequila shots as sleeping pills while a kid in Syria gets actual gun wounds. You give us battles and you give us battle scars. Why do you make my best friend gay and then stop him from talking to the guy he has a crush on, who sits all the way in the back of the class? You give that rich kid across the street Adidas and the poor mother that begs at the kid’s door, stolen sandals. What is your favorite pastime?”

G: “Finding and solving glitches in my product. But I have a feeling you think I am not doing a very thorough job at it.”

Me: “Trying my best to make it obvious. Sometimes, I feel like you are a novel and we, a divided fandom wondering, discussing, arguing about your existence. Sometimes, you seem like a teacher who loves telling kids that she’ll take surprise tests, but never really does. You seem to be a babysitter who is being paid for one thing, but is busy doing another. You’re an artist, no doubt. You made Christmas trees and hot chocolate. But sometimes you seem like you’re an artist gone rogue bringing to life weird things that shouldn’t be. Are you angry because you’re just getting exposure instead of money?”

God: “I’m sort of late for my meeting. It was nice talking to you!”

Instagram handle: @myspirals
Previous post : Roller-coasters and books.
Related post : I have some questions.

I’ve written this and so this is in no way intended to spark a debate between believers and atheists. Give me prompts in the comment section below and share if you liked this!


Every now and then, I write about myself, about how I am just another person, and about how I am an infinity. Christmas, hot chocolate and love have always been mentioned here or there in my poetry. Here is a small and brief glimpse into my obsession:

  1. 2009: We stopped at a gas station to buy food and coffee. I was nine, so I ran towards the chocolates aisle in the store close by. Meanwhile, my dad bought me ad my sister hot chocolate, sandwiches and cupcakes. He bought coffee and sandwiches for him and my mom. So we got into the car with the best food ever and drove around the streets of Dubai, listening and singing along to classical Indian music. I remember the taste of hot chocolate, the sound of my sister’s giggle, my dad’s smile and everything in between.
  2. 2013: Four families got together to celebrate Christmas. The music was too loud but no one cared, and the food smelled like god himself. I was thirteen and fat, because I didn’t yet know that you could, by choice, not eat delicious food. Eating it seemed kinda obvious to me. So as everyone grooved to the music, I danced too and ate something once in while. It was a party worth remembering and that’s when I became best friends with the amazing people I was dancing with. Every since that Christmas, many games, life saving advices and lame jokes have followed.
  3. 2014: Ninth grade has been the show stopper. I was in a history class, talking to my girl friend when this other girl entered the class. For the next two years, I had been madly in love with this other girl. She was like a walk in a park, except that the park was an amusement park and the walk was actually crazy, jaw dropping, breath taking rides. She had beautiful eyes that looked like an eclipse, and a smile like the fourth moon of the fortnight, a bright crescent. Her eyes had dark circles under them, and her arms had cuts. And every time I saw either, they recited a different story and wonderful poetry.

I started writing in 2014, so these three have always been something I find myself using in my poems. Here are ten random questions that I am answering to tell you more about me.

  • Are you scared of heights?
    ∞ I am. I’ve been on the tallest building on Earth and still, height freaks out.
  • What is at the top of your bucket list?
    ∞ I don’t really have an order. But I’ve always wanted to go Greece or Amsterdam.
  • What is the first book you remember reading?
    ∞ As funny as this sounds, my first book was a comic called Tinkle. But my first novel was Percy Jackson.
  • What is your eye color?
    ∞ I’d say dark brown.
  • Do you hold any convictions that you would be willing to die for?
    ∞ None that I am aware of. But I guess I’ll know when I have to.
  • What is your biggest fear?
    ∞ I am Atelophobic (the fear of not being enough)
  • One thing you know now that you wish you had known as a kid?
    ∞ That fears exists, probably.
  • Do you judge a book by it’s cover?
    ∞ I try not to, but I might subconsciously.
  • What makes you angry?
    ∞ Everything?
  • What are you attracted to in a woman?
    ∞ Preferably bold, frank and wild.

I hope you know me a little better today. Also, a shout-out to Hello Lauren for nominating me for the sunshine blogger award.  Tell me more about you in the comments section below. You can ask me questions too. I cannot wait to hear stories about you.

I have some questions.

I have some questions.

Do participate in my give-away. It is really easy to do so. Rules are : here. Also, what questions do you have?

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?

Instagram: myspirals
Previous post : An overused cliché.
Related post : My darkness.

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 ∞