Keyboard warrior
There are twenty six alphabets
strong enough
to make someone’s day,
or make you fall in love,
maybe even hold destruction by the scruff
of its neck and save the planet.
You can raise toasts, gods, hell
and sing them lullabies.
You can turn humans into life-savers.
There are twenty six alphabets
at the core of every soul.
Self-love or otherwise.
Your first attempt at love
teaches you true love.
The ‘I’ve got to make this work’ kind,
the innocent, ‘vanilla is the best’ kind,
the unconditional, ‘always? always.’ kind.
For me, the girl was a reincarnation
of everything I had ever loved.
There were no terms and conditions,
no warnings,
and we didn’t take steps one day at a time.
Our bed was a cosmic sky of fairly dust
and we didn’t need hope.
There were a few fights
here on text messages
there on WhatsApp statuses,
but all was good forever
till one day it wasn’t.
limitless.
Someone said to me,
“the sky is just a glass dome
shielding us from a cold world where we
wouldn’t survive
and when it’s dark outside
you can see the snow collected on the sky,”
and there are three things about this snowfall sky
that I have a problem with,
personally, globally, creatively.
One.
I’ve always looked up at the sky
no matter where I am.
I’ve looked up
from grass, sand, rooftops,
even the deathbeds of my friends.
My backdrop keeps changing
but the sky has always been my
go-to repeat binge-watching show.
I draw inspiration from it
and you’re telling me that something
that makes me so strong
also shatters?
I don’t believe that.
If you do that to me,
then my knees will give out
and buckle so bad
you’ll call it an earthquake.
Two.
Humans are so strong,
I am so strong
that I’d survive a god-made apocalypse
made of just broken hope stories
where finding love is like solving
an eleven by infinite-eleven Rubik’s.
The girls I’ve loved
were so brave
that even after breaking down,
they would always stand back up,
heal themselves,
help others,
and love again and again.
The cities I’ve known stand so tall
that sometimes they break through the snowfall sky
and even then,
they never look down
on me or my billion friends.
The gods I’ve loved are so human
and the humans I’ve loved are so god,
that you should trust me when I say,
we would survive anything.
Three.
Maybe I can picture a glass dome and
a weird, cold, unknown world
but I refuse to creatively believe
that if this world is a home that science couldn’t find
then gravity works there the same way.
In that world,
snow goes up,
people fly but want to walk,
and everybody rises in love.
The bad people go further up to hell,
and the good people fall through their soil
and our sky
into human lives.
And so,
I will not believe
that we’re the heart
and the sky is just the ribcage,
no matter how nice that sounds.
Into stories? – Strip-poetry
Instagram – @myspirals
Cosmic.
I visited a dead city once.
It had
no roads, no shelters, no bodies.
There were only broken walls,
shattered roads, and souls –
an aftermath of war.
I believe that after our final lesson
of letting go of life,
the souls learn how to stay
and so among these ruins,
they kick back, relax, and love cosmically
because this graveyard was and is their home.
In the wreckage,
on some stones, I found epitaphs
“A. Stark, died protecting his family”.
On others, I found eulogies written by
one dead friend to another dead friend.
There was destruction here but also a promise
that these souls were safe
from humans.
There was hate but also love,
my fear but also my hope.
I’m scared that the world will end in war,
that the last thing we’ll hear
will be a battlecry or the silent roars of bombs,
that we’ll go out with a big bang too.
We’ll fight for just a day too long
and spit curses,
catapulting us towards oblivion.
I’m afraid that with the flick of a switch,
we’ll ‘factory data reset’ the world
and just like that, cease to exist.
No more history, no more books, no more readers.
Just broken buildings and the howls
of nature. Smoke, ash, death.
I’m very scared that this tendency
of humans to fill in silences with noise
will lead us to destruction
because not many of us understand
that silences and peace are deep conversations
and war is small talk.
But I am also hopeful
that love will save some of us.
When the human call of death comes,
two young souls will hide.
People with hearts so in love that the universe
deems it too big a loss
to lose them.
I’ve always pictured these two kids
finding shelter in the deepest corners
of the world. If need be, the Earth will crack open
and keep them safe inside.
They’ll be put to sleep while heaven
sings them lullabies
and hell itself rises to protect them.
No war, no screams, no hate
will reach them.
And when they’re ready,
they’ll come back up
and be our next Adam and Eve.
I’m hopeful that something as magical
as love
will bring us back to life.
Into stories? – Let’s live forever
Instagram – @myspirals
Stop fucking poetry.
“it’s easy to be a writer in 2019”
what makes you think it’s easy
to be a writer ever?
Some get traumatized
by bullying or an early divorce or assault
and they write war cries
down on paper. Every syllable, every decibel,
screaming louder than their oppressors.
It’s the scream, the pain, the voice
of survival.
Some stay happy
because everything worked out
and they pen down crooked smiles
and sunshine on paper. They heal you
one hope at a time.
I write about love
because even though my heart has been broken,
it’s still beating
and I find that magical.
I find it amazing that I can live as a thousand pieces
and love new people in new ways.
I find it beautiful that a broken heart
still falls in love when it needs to.
My Spirals 