Life.

Life is a bright sun, but it is also a tornado. These are not real stories, but the problems are real. Also, these are two different stories. I hope we survive. Instagram handle: @myspirals


She was only eleven when this had happened. It was a sunny afternoon and she wanted to play with her friends in the park. While playing Hide and Seek, her friends hid here and there and she was alone in the park, skipping and hopping excitedly as she looked for her friends. It seemed to be a good day. While running towards a bush where she thought her friends were hiding, she tripped and scraped her knee. Tears wetted her cheeks as a few drops of blood trickled down her knee. A guy in about his thirties, saw her crying and walked up to her. He consoled her and took her to his house to see the injury.

He used a piece of cloth and rubbed her knee with it to remove the blood, and she gasped because of the pain. Slowly, he started rubbing her thighs and when she tried to back away, he held her leg tightly in place “Let me take care of you.”. He touched her inner thighs and smiled as he moved closer to her area and her eyes dilated with fear. This wasn’t right. She screamed but he used the piece of cloth to tie her mouth. His fingers touched her in places that she now refers to as scars.


He was twenty-one. Life seemed to be a frolic in the park, happy and delightful. He had a mother and two sisters, and he loved them to death. They lived in a small part of the city. He went out to buy food for his family, when out of nowhere, something blew a hundred kilometers away. Almost in succession, there was two more blasts a little to the east of it. He had no idea what was happening, but he ran anyway. Not away from the blasts, though. Towards them. That’s where his house was and that’s where his family was. After running for ten minutes at full pace, he opened the door to his house as his heavy breathing slowed a bit. They were safe.

He took hold of their hands and asked them to hurry as they ran away from the monstrous blasts. They hurried towards the sea where a lot of people seemed to be headed. He saw boats and sighed in relief. They got on the boat and saw their home turn to smoke and dust as they moved away from the catastrophe. Refugees. Where were the refugees headed? Towards lonely hearts and no home.


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Empty hearts.

So I tried something new in which I had to write the poetry in exactly a hundred words. Do read it and leave anything you’d like to say in the comments. Instagram handle: @myspirals


“So, what does it feel like to be empty?”

“Everyone is made of poetries,
and to have that inside of you
but no voice or walls for it to echo,
it can be hard to describe,
if not impossible.

It feels like a sinking Titanic,
that is too cold to realize,
that its life is etching away.
It feels like a long stretch of silence,
that screams out stories
and unheard rants.
It feels like a mirage
that you’ve somehow reached,
and you live the illusion.

I don’t know, really.
It feels like a nothing in a something.
Numb. Empty.”


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Addictions and lies.

I’ve made the official Instagram handle for this page (@myspirals). Do follow and stay tuned. (If you’ve written and posted something that you want me to read, use the hashtag #ourspirals)


I’m addicted to coffee. There are more dirty mugs in my sink and empty coffee bottles in my dustbin than the number of people I trust. The first conversation I have in the day is with a steaming mug of coffee that smells of hopes and reality. I wrap my fingers around the warmth and let it wake me up, despite me not having slept at all last night. The bitter taste of coffee burning my tongue is like a pat on the back, and I am all for motivation. I am high on coffee every day.

I’m addicted to music. The melody is my drug and I cannot live without it. I sleep to the voice of Ed Sheeran and wake up to Selena Gomez. Which is why I’d ask you to ‘kiss me’ at night and have anxiety attacks as I run through the jungles of my mind like ‘wolves’ in the morning. I’d relate to the lyrics of a song more than have feelings of déjà vu’s. I’ve been called an introvert, but I am not. I am an extrovert and I socialize a lot with music.

I am addicted to lying. I have this weird habit of telling myself every morning I will sleep that night, even though it is nothing but a white lie. I’ve pretended to be over someone, even though I still look for them in the hallways of my university. I’ve said I am okay way too many times, for even that to be healthy. When you fake a smile often enough, it becomes a habit and your smile is reduced to being just a twitch in your muscles.

I am addicted to her. I am addicted to the way we read poetry to each other like lullabies on a Tuesday night, and the way she giggles at dark humor. I love the way she looks at me in dim lights, and the way she trips over nothing. I love the smell of her hair, honey and coconut. She isn’t sunshine. She is hot chocolate and Christmas.

But most of all, I am addicted to the way the butterflies in my stomach go crazy when she whispers in my ears as we take a sip from the warm mugs of coffee with ‘Skin’ playing somewhere in the house. “I love you too.” Oh, what a beautiful lie.


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Whisky Words: Project (10)

This is Submission TEN of The Whiskey Words. The Whiskey Words is a writing project (and a giveaway), and if you’d like to participate, here are the rules.


I want to break free.

She walked with him on the beach.They rarely meet and this is one such rare day. She withheld her craving to hold his hand. It was a public place and they could not be seen like this. Just them together would bring up questions, unwanted questions… forget holding hands.
They have known each other for years, decades even. What started out as friendship became close friends and then something that shouldn’t have happened did happen just like that. By then he was married with two children and she was separated. Why did they cross that line when they did? He just claimed that he wanted to make her happy. She took that as a valid answer and left it at that. When you are best friends with someone you love and respect them, a lot of their flaws are pushed behind. Probably that is what she did too.
Why do we do the things we do? Nobody knows. There are reasons which are very valid, but others do not see it. Only we know and the reason however flimsy it might seem to others is very valid for us, at least at that moment.
As I said, they met rarely, maybe once in a few years. She still remembers meeting him for the first time. He sat across the room from her. Her eyes darted to him every few seconds as she was talking to the others but neither of them made an effort to talk to each other and not even the next time they met. Once they started talking though they spoke and spoke, sometimes all night long. They thanked Graham Bell for his invention which brought them so close together even though they were hundreds of miles apart. When you bare your heart and soul to someone, share all your secrets that nobody else knows then I guess the wall breaks. The wall here broke too.
The initial stage was fascinating, but it started to wear off soon. The topic now came back to sex irrespective of where it started and it starts to get boring beyond a point. Especially if you are used to discussing a whole lot of things about every single thing in the world. They also slowly they started feeling guilty. That was bound to happen too. She didn’t know how to articulate her feelings. He would show his guilt by avoiding her completely and give her no rhyme or reason for doing so. They were playing emotional hide and seek, only, in this case, he would hide away and then seek her when he wanted to. There would be phases of silences which would kill her. Anything she tried to break his wall would end up as a failure. She would go mad and then when she just gave up everything and started building her wall up again, this time only higher, he would come knocking again and break all her defenses.
Today she has been fighting with her own thoughts though. Something told her that she had to stop. She had started recognizing things that she hadn’t done before. She was sick and tired of the patriarchy. She could call him only when he wanted to talk to her yet he wanted her full attention when he spoke to her. She got replies to her messages only when he felt like talking to her. Even if she wanted to go back to just being good friends he said once the line was crossed it was difficult to go back. He told her how women could never get out of an affair because they have nothing else to do and their mind was not busy they kept thinking of the same thing over and over again. Today she had to decide.
He asked her if she wanted to cuddle up with him somewhere quiet. Amazingly she stopped walking, turned around to look at him in the eye and said “I don’t want to do it. Not now, not ever. I don’t want you to feel guilty and surely not because of me.” She had a wide grin, She was happy she could say it finally and felt so free just saying it. She looked at her watch and said “Time for my flight pal, have to head to the airport. bye” and walked away leaving him in the sunset. She felt happy to have had the courage to break the relationship which till now she thought was her lifeline.
Till now she had trusted him and he had let her down many times by not being there when she wanted, while she has ignored his faults and dropped everything to be with him when he wanted her. But today was the day to break free, to make that change forever.
Sometimes we do things which appear as though they do not have a reason, but there is a reason, a very valid reason. We get inner peace when we don’t let others control what we do anymore.
– Shyamala Sathiaseelan

(blog)

Whisky Words: Project (9)

This is Submission NINE of The Whiskey Words. The Whiskey Words is a writing project (and a giveaway), and if you’d like to participate, here are the rules.


Illumine the stars

Hers
Is a restless soul in the black abyss of a beautiful world.
A world where heartbeats are numb in the crowds of screaming rivals
Her soul, a misfit for rhyme and reason
Because the pictures speak to it.
Her eyes search a different truth
Because the phrases mean nothing to them
Her mind seeks rational meaning
Because the sophistication means eternity to it.
Her soul longs an unknown silence.
So when the night sky kisses the sea,
She embarks upon a journey,
With the stars on her back.
One by one,
She illumines the stars,
makes her mark in the shape of a constellation,
a perpetual path,
leading to a shooting star.

– Himna Khan (blog)