rainbow – My Spirals

Something I can touch.

Something I can touch.

Assume all TRIGGER WARNINGs. I’ve been trying to write about such issues more often and I hope I do them justice. (secret: you might enjoy the poem more if you google the meaning of some of the names) Let me know if you liked it in the comments.

When my father told me we were the gold pots
at the end of the rainbow,
I was only ten.
He loved rainbows.
Every year on his birthday,
our house would become a castle made of
blue, yellow, and red
and my sister and I would draw him a red carpet
made out of every color in the 62 rupees color pencil pack.
It would start at the door and only last four steps
but it made abba smile the widest every year.

Greetings from yesterday.

Greetings from yesterday.

This poem is on a on a more chilled out note compared to a few other poems I’ve been writing lately. So you might notice a slightly different writing style. Tell me if you like it in the comments. I got a prompt from TTT to write a poem on ‘if memories wrote back’. This is it. I hope you enjoy it 🙂

I’ve spent days wondering what I’d do
if someday, my mailbox overflowed
with letters from my yesterdays.
I’ve imagined opening my mailbox
and being greeted by 2008 ‘my first movie in theatres’
or one of my ‘drunk voicemails to exes’,
maybe even that trip to Troy.
I’d shuffle through the pack of letters from my yesterdays
and read a bunch.

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.

Inside my head.

What do I think about? Is it love or my family?
Or is it a wonder trip and all-nighters?

I think of rainbow unicorns,
with soft wavy hair like my mother used to have,
and a horn that sharpens as a spiral,
much like my thoughts.
It has eyes like me father’s,
and crooked teeth that remind me,
of my sister.
It’s my family unicorn and it gallops in the sky.
I love them.
It’s not perfect, but it’s beautiful.
Also ironically, real.

I think of Christmas trees,
with a line of golden bells and colorful things
that hold within them,
stories of smiles and tears.
It is green and smells like a new day,
and looks exactly like what I drew it to be,
back in second grade.
I am a pirate and it’s my treasure box.
I love my memories.
It’s not perfect, but it has a star.
Also ironically, the star is from the sky.

I think of hearts on the corner of folded pages,
with red sketched inside of it,
a red that reminds me of my girlfriends stubbornness,
and how she blushes.
The paper is creased but the heart is still complete,
and it reminds me of a very old,
romanticized war.
It is my life’s ‘profile picture’ and I’ve liked it myself.
I love sketching.
It’s not artistic, but it is elegant.
Also ironically, three dimensional and inside my body.

If you want to connect with me on Facebook, click here.
Instagram handle: @myspirals

Previous post : The war has ended.
Related post : Palettes of life.

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 ∞

Midnight.

It’s late, and I’m still thinking about you.

”I am addicted.
She is my bottle of vodka.
She is my cookie crumbs.
She is the eighth colour of my rainbow.
The colour that’s everywhere,
Except inside the rainbow.
She is my three A.M.
The three A.M. pain I write about,
And the three A.M. calls I don’t make.
She is my happy ever after.
The happy ever after in a fairytale,
In those tales for my three A.M. kid,
In those stories for my four A.M. demons,
In those lullabies for my five A.M. drowsy eyes.
She is my sushi.
She is my ‘one eyelash – one wish’.
She is my 11:11 ‘Wish, please come true’.
She is my cigarette.
Here’s the fucking problem.
I’m addicted.
And she’s my nicotine patch.”

Previous post : Mirror
Related post : How often do you think about me?