songs – My Spirals

Pendants and tattoos.

Pendants and tattoos.

Elisabeth’s routine that day was very similar to all the other days. She woke up looking like what she would call “a tornado mess”, wore a t-shirt with a baby elephant’s picture on it and ate rainbow cereal. Of course, every choice has a backstory to it. Her sister had died because of a tornado and Elisabeth found humor and realization in calling herself a tornado mess. She used to live in a village when she was only eight Continue reading Pendants and tattoos.

A letter to music – gratitude and stories.

It has been a long time since I posted, huh? Needed a break, sorry. I am back, though. Let’s enjoy this! I hope you like this letter-format I’ve recently started trying.

To music,

From Ghazals to ‘Kiss me’ to ‘Dusk Till Dawn’, this has been a long journey, hasn’t it?

When I was six, I could barely speak English. My tongue fumbled when I spoke English because it was a foreign language that I still wasn’t used to but I could hum the tune of ‘Chand Sifarish’ and not miss a single note.

In my 10-13 year old phase, my all-time favorite memory that I often find myself telling people is how me and my family would go on long drives and have sandwiches and hot chocolate and listen to an endless number of songs. My sister and I had a playlist that we would listen to on our way to school every morning.

When two broken pieces clash, they break into smaller pieces. When I had my heart broken for the third time, the only leftovers of my heart was dust. With earphones jammed into my ears and a few fancy dance moves, music turned it into fairy-dust that I sprinkled onto everything and healed myself.

My point is that you have literally always been there for me. Be it in the form of a language, a memory or a magic trick. You’ve witnessed me grow up from when I was a few months old and my parents would sing me lullabies to today when I listen to ‘Girls like you’ on repeat.

I heard somewhere that old weapons are sometimes melted and musical instruments are made from the metal. I guess that explains the bullet wounds some of your lyrics leave behind, and it also explains why playing Antakshri when I was ten felt like going to war.

Thank you Music, for being my metaphorical shoulder to cry on and literal ‘always’.

Yours,
Utsav Raj

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Give me prompts in the comment section below and share if you liked this! Also, I’m probably going to post an exclusive poem on my Instagram handle (@myspirals) on Tuesday at 9:45 p.m. IST, so drop over if you’d like to read it.

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_

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Languages, medicines and magicians.

What has music been for you? Let me know in the comment section below! Enjoy reading. Instagram handle: @myspirals

“Music is a safe kind of high.” – Jimi Hendrix

Music is a language, a medicine and a magic trick. Dance to it.

Music was his mother-tongue. His tongue fumbled when he spoke English as if it were a foreign language that he hadn’t heard all his life, but when he was alone, he hummed a tune and did not miss a single note. He stuttered and shied away from conversations with strangers, but sang songs with a broad grin around camp fires. When he wasn’t feeling alright, he would shut out completely and listen to music as he thought and thought about what had gone wrong, but you could find small clues hidden in his playlist to make him feel alright.
Her soul had been crushed into absolute pieces and her heart had cuts all over. There was a constant ache, that seemed to run like blood in her veins and pillows couldn’t drown it out. But earplugs seemed to drive the pain away completely, or at least numb it. As the lyrics stopped her mind from wandering about, and the music brought her a much-needed gift, she could smile without wanting to scream. Music was her band-aid and no one could rip it off her scars. For her, music was like a steady dose of pain-killers and peace. Music was the only pillow that could drown out the screams, and it was the only shoulder she could cry on.
He was broke and broken, but managed to get into the bar right across the street. He needed to feel lost and alive, and so he stepped onto the dance-floor swarmed with broken hearts and night-outs. The music was loud enough to make him disappear as his feet moved about in an unsteady pace. The broken pieces of his heart rattled against each other, but no one could hear it. The pieces slammed against each other and broke into smaller pieces until all that was left was dust. He smiled as he took the dust and blew on it, as if it were fairy-dust and his wishes were going to come true.

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Sober.

Give me prompts in the comments section below! Enjoy reading. Instagram handle: @myspirals

Despite being six vodka shots down,
I was sober as I called you.
It isn’t possible to drunk-dial you,
Because you are like a good night’s sleep.
Just the thought of you slows down my heart-beat,
and makes me feel at home.
I don’t need to be drunk around you,
as I tell you everything anyway.
I’m not afraid of blabbering on and on,
Like a tape on repeat,
Because you’ve said that I am your favorite song.
I do everything with you,
that I wouldn’t even dream of, unless drunk.
You are a glass of water,
for every shot that I have.
You’re salt and lime,
and my poetry’s rhyme.
If I am so alive with you,
How can liquor make drunk
as I call you?

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