Be a cartoon heart. Open your eyes and stare wide at the sky and take it all in. Bask in the brilliance of being alive. Let your heart be as eternal as the ocean, As tender as the twinkling dew at dawn, As kind as the sweet rain to a scorched earth, As brave as the red rose bursting through the concrete. Let your heart be both, A gentle breeze and a fierce storm, Let it aim true and find home. “Be forgiving,” says my heart. “Be caring,” she whispers. “Be loving,” she breathes. “Be.” She gives me final advice.
This is a poem about two young lovers, walking along the pier in the evening. Their love is exciting, bubbling, and shy but somehow they’re both nostalgic for the moments they’re experiencing that evening.
Small Stars
We’re welcomed by the gentle evening; The crimson sun embraces us, the sound of the sea kisses us, the salty air tickles us. Our hands fit awkwardly in our pockets Our faces face the coloured sky, We’re silent for a few minutes.
We’re bathed in golden paint by the sun- That fat star in the distance Sinking into the horizon to sing the sea to sleep. Knowingly or unknowingly, the sun leaves us not as two humans but As two small stars. As products of her own love and care. As descendants of her fierce passion and resilience.
The sun knows. She knows us. She sees us.
We’ve stared into the distance long enough To find comfort in each other To start walking again. We fall into easy conversation, still shy and tender: Gentle laughs, knowing smirks, playful jokes.
And yet, somehow we’re self aware. We know. We foresee our supernovas, We know we end. In the midst of joy and love and life, we know.
We’re sitting on a Ferris Wheel that jerks And suddenly our hands fit in each other, We’re testing the waters for a few seconds, Not meeting each other’s eyes as we blush furiously- putting the scarlet sky to shame. We’re two stars slowly melding together- Our hands are molten lava, our hearts are wide as the ocean.
But early Venus in the distance Smiles forlornly at us, She knows we’re fleeting stars. And we do too.
We’re eating fries dipped heavily in sauce but we’re still dipped in nostalgia. We’re decorated in memories from the future- Longing for today. We know we’re precious; We know we won’t be this bright again; We miss ourselves as every moment passes.
Twilight nods and understands, She knows and she whispers to us, “May you always be bathed in golden paint, my loves.”
This is a poem about a group of friends who realise they have to part ways. They all want to pursue different things and won’t be together anymore. Although they’ll be in the same city, they realise it won’t be the same anymore.
EXPIRY DATES
I knew it was going to end, just not this quickly. The family we created was one day going to part ways. Was going to head towards new beginnings. Was going to change.
But I didn’t know when.
And suddenly when that expiry date transforms to today, I’m bittersweet. I’m the sour oranges you still chew because you like fruits, The promises you make just to comfort yourself, The hug you give someone you know is going to leave tomorrow.
It all happens too fast and I’m trying to be more meaningful. To wonder what I did right and what I did wrong, To smile at everyone and generate joy, To capture every last moment. I’m trying to console myself and somehow reason that we’ll be alright. We’ll keep in touch. This won’t end.
But I’m also trying to figure out When the world will decide it’s my turn to do everything, to be that person. My turn to be the main character, to write the story. My turn to live the life others have been living- independent, strong, beautiful.
But maybe life won’t turn out that way. Maybe I’ll still be stuck- Surrounded by newer people, unable to replace my family, but still making do with what I have. Maybe I’ll just be a spectator- never the lead. Maybe that’s how things will end. Maybe that’s what the aftermath of an expiry date holds.
Total and utter confusion.
With no instructions on how to proceed ahead- Just a warning of decay. I’m being handed my own pen and being Pushed into a world I hope I can make the best of. I’m bittersweet. Always.
I’m eclipsed by my own mountain of expectations- telling me to somehow Find the limelight. Find myself.
As everyone waits in anticipation for the ‘ball to drop’, the world comes to a standstill at midnight. We all halt for a few seconds. It’s one of the more meaningful yet fickle moments in life, a sign that time moves with a mind of its own. A sign that we’ve endured 12 months again without realising how truly impactful they were. A sign to make more resolutions we know we can’t keep because maybe 2023 is going to be our year.
In those few seconds, memories of the last year flash before our eyes. The highs, the lows, the awkward moments we still haven’t unpacked, all of it. Distantly, it strikes us that we’ll have to write the date differently- 01.01.23. A lovely Fibonacci date wasted on a generation far too nostalgic to even move past 2019.
It isn’t until a month into the new year that we realise the year has begun. It won’t wait for us. Meanwhile, we’re still stuck making collages and scrapbooks, trying to document life to make it seem more tangible. To make it seem like something worth holding onto.
01.01.23 and we arm ourselves with all the lessons we’ve learned from 2022. We stand tall in gratitude for our support system, for our beloved friends and family. Yet we also bow our heads, humble in our approach as we greet another year of life. Always ready to grow.
Those few seconds pass and applause erupts at once all over the country. Drinks are clinked, cakes are cut, firecrackers are burst. Silent prayers and promises are sent out into the air with new hopes and dreams for the coming year. Reality comes roaring back with hundreds of chats flooded with celebration. And we stand there, knowing that maybe 2023 is our year.
should I let the waves of colour and composition pull my feet out from under me till i fall to the wet sand, heavy with honeys of hues and tints of timber?
should i deliberately get lost in a forest of untold stories and broken dreams, of stars that burn you, scorch you, unalive you, and leave you ugly scars, of beautiful things too sharp to be part of this world?
should i eat life unafraid of eating the food of Gods, of seeing my red blood turn gold, of losing grasp of memory, moment, sanity- for the sake of immersing myself in art?
in hopes that one day, i will also be known as a story, as art.
I met you in full HD, in the highest resolution, in the most brilliance. You waved at me from the border of reality and hallucination, And maybe I imagined you fading slowly. You became an old photograph, a buried album, an obscure memory: Far from colour, Far from life.
I met you in a dream, In a world where we still hung in a limbo- In the midst of hellos and goodbyes, Drowning in the sea of love and confusion, Blinking tears and joy.
I met you in a dream, Maybe we’ll meet again. Maybe our stories start and end in this colourful, messy haze.
There is a certain kind of sadness that resides in The depths of the world. The kind that stays hidden till sought, Concealed in smiles and laughter;
The kind that ventures out in silences and boredom, Like a hand that reaches out to pat you But instead grabs you to the deep abyss That is the unknown;
The kind that hits you in the face like realisation But stings like betrayal And hurts like love;
The kind that doesn’t make you cry But rather makes you quiet, Dims the sunshine you carry, And makes you less full of life than you first arrived with.
Wallow in this sadness and feel this sadness, Don’t let it engulf you or bury you- Know that like the tide, it always ebbs. If it keeps flowing,
try to search for
That coarse voice you shouted out songs in, The shy smile you wore on a special night and The way you danced to a silent song called joy. Find the fairy lights that glow inside of you And the stars you gobbled along with a Glass of moonlight- forever illuminating your heart, And you’ll always be okay.
Maybe not away from this certain kind of sadness, But okay.
Life is a battle Between our past and our future Between our memories and our dreams Between ‘was’ and ‘will be’.
We’re stretched in two directions Conflicted and confused While time fails to convince us to Keep our head on our shoulders and simply pick the present
The past lures us with comfort With laughter, joy, fun, and Something that looks different than today Something that feels like home
But the future argues that it is Comfortable as well It is full of success, peace, and satisfaction Full of dreams, fantasies, and discovery
Somehow we learn to despise the present To denounce the struggles of our time Forever perceiving the ‘other’ times as wonderful and failing to spot the Sparkle in today
Life is a battle, a pointless one at times To fight for our past and our future is a losing battle To fight for ‘was’ and ‘will be’ is futile if we forget To fight for the ‘is’.
what happens if we stop trying if we stop trying so hard to get things done, to make an impression, to be someone?
what if we shrug and say that life will draw out the ways but we can have comfort in the fact that we are our own GPS we can always drive through a lake or sprint across a field or follow the route to grab the stars and make them ours
and if you do, you’ll find yourself being in phase with life you’ll find that you’ve learned how to live too hard, love too hard, and laugh to hard that we are all memories in the making and that worrying that we’re too much will get us nowhere because we are stars too full of light and it’s impossible to settle for being too dim.
Where are you When you stare into the depths of the outside world, Without regards to your surroundings?
I need to know, where are you When you stay silent for a while too long When your messages are shorter than usual When you hold your head and sigh, I have no choice but to ask- Where are you?
I’m pulling a bit tight on the ropes that Tie us together. So I can get you back slowly, Back to here. Back to now.
I play a game of tug-of war, Where I am harsh reality and you are a better world. And I wonder why I can’t simply Lose and join you-
For I’d rather daydream and lose all care, Find time to twirl a flower and to Slow dance in the middle of the night. To be spontaneous, to be ‘too much’, to be me.
To smile a lot, to be silly, to be colourful and go crazy, And to be me- with you.
Milomi's world 