Milomi's world
Overflowing Ideas.
Category: Uncategorized
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a person is gone- some space was earlier occupied and now it’s not, a simple plus and minus. can we find a way to fill the void, like finding a piece of sellotape or duct tape to seal the wound shut?
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Three years ago, I sat, buried by my physics textbook, Committing to memory Newton’s three sacred laws Moving, turning pages, coming back for just another look At the formula which escaped me, at another effect of a cause. I was a pendulum in a vacuum- swinging and swinging And swinging again and transforming energy-
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Today, my knee boasts a purple bruise. I made it out of war alive and that is my medal. Tomorrow, I realise my injury is closing up, healing, nurturing. Next week, the scar is not as crimson as I remember it to be. Next year, I will forget what the pain feels like. I despise…
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How can I miss something that hasn’t happened yet? ‘Miss’ points to the past, it’s a signpost towards longing and yearning for a past moment. We look behind and we miss the people we were. We’re the same colour but today we perhaps wear a different shade or don a fresher texture. We’re painted in…
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“will love fold or will love fight?” the words echoed and ricocheted- a question was suddenly a thousand doubts all at once. time stared into the distance, she had always warned infatuation of this inevitable arriving tornado, yet here she was wondering if love is secure, safe, and sturdy enough to withstand the rage of…
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‘i remembered you like golden daffodils and black coffee with a shot of orange juice, and that you carefully gave me instructions on how exactly to hug you and cup your cheek, you probably thought i’ll forget but it’s the one thing i’ll always know.
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I always like to ask people how they would describe a colour to a blind person. “Green is touching the grass and facing the wind as it messes with your carefully done hair and laughing out loud.” “Yellow is smiling so much your cheeks start hurting. Kissing a daffodil.” “Crimson is being in love, being…
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I never miss a night For the skies call out to me And I, like a magnet Am glued to its beauty.
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I was ten, curious, and in Tamatave, Madagascar, when I spotted my first constellation. My father held my hand and traced the Big Dipper in the sky.
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“je ne parle pas français,” i can hear the sea laughing at me but the sand agreeing with me because some experiences transcend words. some feelings elude the need for language.
Milomi's world 