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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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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Then how come it isn’t?

Friends, if you like reading my work, do share it with your friends (on whatever social media you deem appropriate). Please help my infinity grow bigger ∞


The last time I kissed her, I kissed her with a little more passion than our lungs could hold on to. I let my hands pull her in, and my eyes close to make sure I remembered what she was like.
She tasted like a Monday morning I didn’t hate and dirty coffee mugs of the night before. She tasted like grocery shopping where we ended up with just a stick of gum, and the cashier gave our smiles and giggles a weird glance cause clearly we shouldn’t shop at 3 A.M? She tasted of sunrays and tanned skin, and of crazy ways to seduce each other. She tasted like a cold November night on the terrace with my arms around her and her head on my chest and our eyes on the stars. She tasted like broken frames and mended hearts and salty tears and not being able to stay apart.
She reminded me of the time I ran my fingers through her hair, and she ran her fingers through the knots in my souls. She reminded me of the time I kissed her salty skin right after coming out of the sea, and her fingers holding onto my wet hair and pulling me in. She reminded me of sleeping all day and watching Barney all night. She reminded me of soft chuckles, and loud moans.
She was my ‘Irish’ coffee and she was the Rachel to my Ross. She reminded me of moonlight on her knees as I trailed my fingers up. She reminded me of empty bottles and half-eaten snickers. She reminded me of promises that smelled of chocolate cookies and assurances of being in Wonderland if I ever fell again.
She tasted like an eternity and reminded me of the fault in our stars. We could not end up together, but we did have a bigger infinity than we ever imagined we could have. She was the Robin to my Barney and the little forever she gave me was legen – wait for it – dary.
Didn’t you think you’d meet someone, fall in love and that’d be it?


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Related post : Kisses and cravings.