Broken things stay.

Broken things stay.

I love personifying things that matter in our lives. I’ve done it with Heaven and Hell, with Time, and now this. Poetry and love has to be two of the most important things on that list. So yeah, here’s my attempt that making Poetry and Love just like you and me. Comment below and give me prompts! Enjoy!


Poetry was a twenty year old,
5’7”, super shy but very flirty.
His escape from reality was through metaphors and similes.
“They are the shoulders I choose to cry on,”
he said all the time.
He loved red flowers, beaches, cliches,
and some of the weird things too,
like having Pizza on mountains.

Continue reading Broken things stay.

Because I’m a magician.

Because I’m a magician.

I’ve been thinking about magic tricks for a while and this was one of the two parts I came up with. Sometime in the future, I will definitely write the other story if you want me to, but till then, I do hope you enjoy this!


Jaadugar – a magician”.

In 1999, when I was ten, my dad took me to a magic show. The show was at four in the morning and I tried convincing him to let me sleep but nothing worked that day. “Rahim, this jaadugar will change your life!” he said and we went for the show. Turns out, he was right. Twenty years later – today – I’m the magician.

What people forget about magicians is that our most prominent trick is one that almost everyone has mastered. It’s sawing love stories in half for some and healing hearts for others. We break hearts and we have broken hearts too. So yes, this is my love story.

Continue reading Because I’m a magician.

Some breathing space.

Some breathing space.

Hey! Thank you for waiting up for me this past week. I guess I needed some breathing space. I’m back, though. I used my state of mind the past week to write a little something today! It’s about how some breathing space can do people a word of good – especially for those who rely on others a lot. I hope you like this poem! Do tell me if you did in the comments section! I would love to hear what you have to say.


She asked for some breathing space
the first time we fought.

This ‘breathing space’
reminded me a lot of museums.
I could see her,
look at the things she liked to do,
but I wasn’t allowed to touch anything.
I saw her shopping, dancing, drinking,
and I saw her smiling.
I had no one to go shopping with
so I hid my shopping bags under my eyes.
I had no one to dance or drink with,
so I kept empty vodka bottles in my lonliness.
I was a mess.

Continue reading Some breathing space.

My therapist is very weird.

My therapist is very weird.

I’ve always wondered what my therapist would be like if I ever went to one. I’ve also wondered what I would be like if I was a therapist. Well, I guess you could say this piece is a mixture of the two. It also has the cutest ending ever. I hope you like it. Comment and tell me if you did. Enjoy!


“So what is it like – being human and all?” My therapist asked.

“That’s a very weird question.” I answered.

“I’ll rephrase. What is it like – being you?”

“It’s crazy, honestly. But here you go -” and I told her. I told her about my favorite childhood memories like the hundred family long drives with songs and hot chocolate and how they the memories shaped me. “I don’t have coffee anymore,” I told her about my tenth birthday and how I spent it chasing my friends in a ‘catch-me-if-you-can’ game. “It was hilarious. We were in a shopping mall that had these gaming sections and furniture shops spread over three, maybe four floors. I was running, trying to catch my friends who were always on a different floor. I’d take the escalator for the first floor and they would giggle and take the escalator to the ground floor. And then I’d try to run down on an elevator going up to catch them faster and every time I did that, they would do the opposite. Those days,” I said and smiled.

“Do you still feel like you’re chasing things and are on the wrong side of the escalator, Afra?”

“God, no. Chill. So anyway,” and I continued my tale. Eventually, I reached the tough parts of my life. I told her about how my days seemed to be going nowhere and how the nights had promised to stay forever. I told her they were damn good at keeping their promises. I went on and on about weird things like how I was claustrophobic everywhere except in my own room and about Christmas parties that I wish I’d never attended so that I wouldn’t have met the guys I dated. “Everybody keeps telling me about the ways I can make things better but they’re all just shitty ideas. I’m headed nowhere. Me living like this is like a dog driving a car except that dogs don’t drive cars.”

“Well, you clearly have never seen my doggo.”

“You’re a weird therapist.”

“Look!”



Liked it? – My therapist talks too much
Instagram – @myspirals

Mumbai 1.0

Mumbai 1.0

This is part one of a Mumbai series that I’ve planned. This one is to maybe help you see Mumbai through my eyes. The next part will be a conversation I had with somebody from Mumbai and their story. Do let me know in the comments section if you’d like that, and tell me stories about your city.


I’d heard about Mumbai a lot of times – about how the city never slept, about how it was filled with writers, singers, and actors and even the trees were musicians. There were no mornings, just late nights and super late nights. In the afternoon, the city buzzed constantly like an alarm clock. I’d heard about the insane traffic and crazy streets, about the gullies and the people who lived there. I stayed for seven days in this foreign city that had always sounded like home.

Continue reading Mumbai 1.0