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Overflowing Ideas.

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Just because I’m awake doesn’t mean I can’t dream.

  • quirks- a poem

    i’m where i started, and where i’m going,
    and the experiences that have made me
    with the people that have moulded me.

    i’m songs on repeat and full volume,
    and a head full of dreams i wonder i can chase.

    i’m also fragments of words trying to coalesce into sense
    and stars still stitching themselves into constellations
    and i’m someone gazing through a telescope trying to decipher true meaning.

    i’m lost between pages, trying to find myself in someone else,
    staunchly believing in hope and life and praying that the odds are in my favour
    stopping in my tracks to calculate probability.

    i’m making pop culture references no one understands, smiling for no reason, scribbling with blank ink on scraps of paper, and insisting my desk is not messy.

    i’m someone who laughs easily,
    blushes even harder,
    forever making the peace sign- as if to
    defend my quirks and qualities
    from the world.

    eons later, i’ll only be words written on a faded paper,
    photographs and blurry frames,
    a tall stack of books i never got around to reading,
    and where i ended.

    Written by
    Milomi.

  • To Be Beautiful- poem

    Sometimes, things are only beautiful
    Because of the knowledge that they might one day
    Be no more.
    That they will escape your grasp,
    So to make the holding on with as much
    Passion as you can muster up in that little heart of yours.

    Sometimes, the fact that
    We will die
    Is what shapes us into gorgeous beings, ready to
    Seize the day.
    Living spontaneously, obliviously, with a bucket list of things we want to do before we die.

    It escapes us that we’re insignificant- in the face of a booming cosmos.
    That, stacked up against billions and billions of years, we vanish in a blink of time.
    And so, floating amongst stars made up of stories
    The earth is only one radiating love, life and death.

    A flower blooms vigourously at the thought of withering,
    Wanting youth to overpower her. To overpower someone’s senses with
    Entrenching scents and colour, colour, and colour.
    A flower blooms, living briefly but beautifully, proudly conspicuous and couraegous.

    And so in the short lives we live
    In the multitude of experiences we experience
    In the best of times we have-
    Mortality ties us to beauty, and
    Beauty brings us home.

    Written by
    Milomi.

    Inspired by On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong.

    Image source: https://unsplash.com/photos/P0m3k_u5nVc

  • A Sky Full of Colour

    This is a story of sorts- narrated by a boy who grows up learning to fly kites. He recalls a memory of him flying kites and reminisces looking at a colourless sky.

    A SKY FULL OF COLOUR

    Kids my age bruise their fingers playing an electric guitar. I get cut on my fingers while flying kites- the coarse string cutting into my hands.

    It’s the good pain, the type that reminds you that your effort is fruitful. The scars you can show off and wear with pride. Saying my blood blossomed and adorned my finger tips, but my eyes were greeted with a sky full of colour. My eyes were introduced to one of those moments that last a lifetime.

    I tug my kite, not caring about the sun eating my face whole or the wind wanting to carry me off to another world. It somersaults in the air as if waving to me. I wave back, holding tighter to the string that connects me to freedom.

    It’s why I like flying kites. I get to hold on to something, and know it’ll always be there. It’s going to be fluttering like my heart does when a butterfly lands on my hand.

    It’s a reminder to tie a string to my loved ones, to hold them close. But it’s also a reminder to tie a string to those I can’t reach, like a kite so high in the sky I can’t find it anymore. It’s still there, and I can tug on the kite if I want. The kite will tug back to let me know it’s doing okay- that high, above the clouds.

    I hope that kite has found other kites it can play with. And I hope the kite remembers me and knows that I’m waiting- at the other end of the world. That I’m there to cushion his fall. That I’m there to embrace him and carry him home.

    Written by
    Milomi.

    Image source: https://unsplash.com/photos/uCyX_xn8Y1I

  • Old Days

    We are constantly making memories. We are living days to look back on, saying things that later become catchphrases, forming our personalities- without realizing any of it. In this bizarre way we move through life, only realizing what we built once we’ve moved on from that stage of life.

    We talk about the good old days and reminisce, trying to recollect our laughing faces and piece together the wonderful times we’ve had. Every step of the way is yet another memory we overlooked, and we descend down this lane- losing ourselves in a scrapbook of old black and white photographs.

    It’s probably tough to realize we are in our good old days and to live like we’re on the edge of existence. It’s easier to fill our phones and cameras with photographs, tirelessly documenting our live- writing in journals and newspapers, expressing ourselves. Maybe years later, we’ll talk about our good old days and flourish blurry photographs or ones where no one is posing properly.

    We don’t know who we’ll be, looking back on these days- and we don’t even know who we’ll be tomorrow. We need to seize today before it’s over. We need to shake today by the shoulder and scream into her face, try to hold on and pull through the day before it’s over, so we can tell this story over again. Many years later.

    Written by
    Milomi.

  • Vast Blue Skies- poem

    I look out and see vast blue skies with endless possibilities.
    I tiptoe across the clouds to touch the horizon
    To feel the taste of fresh air and freedom
    To savour the delight of being lost in the mist.

    My heart thumps and pounds saying my soul is scattered.
    Saying I’ve drifted into dimensions behind my understanding.
    Saying there’s no way home.

    I grasp in hope of reaching those endless possibilities.
    Thinking of soaring dreams and feeling myself soar, trying to outrace those dreams.
    I fumble, I stumble, I lose my footing on the cotton candy clouds-

    As I fall, I think of what lies beyond the horizon
    I flap my arms, mimicking a bird, remembering every last thing about
    Daedalus and Icarus
    Maybe I can save myself before falling into the depths of reality.

    Up there, near the vast blue skies
    It seemed like everything was alright.
    I saw the world for what it was
    Noticing the specks of green and brown and blue
    Realising the tininess of me.

    So I close my eyes again, re-centring like the needles of a compass after you spin a lot,
    And put my ramblings to rest.
    I close my eyes, and no longer hold the skies in my hands.
    I close my eyes, and my spirit returns from its constant wanderings, rendering me back to a person on an airplane who just likes to think a lot.

    Written by
    Milomi.

  • Sense- poem

    Does sadness make sense
    When the world is breaking down and
    Tears are breaking you
    Into a million million pieces?

    Does sorrow make sense
    When mourning seems too soon to do?
    While grief seeps through the open seams in our lives
    Carrying us into the sea of tears

    Does insanity make sense
    As we slowly leak away from reality
    Unable to decipher the meaning of words
    To distinguish between life and dreams?

    Does sleep make sense
    When sprinkled with nightmares and adorned with
    Screams and shock and shivers
    As we try to shrug the shackles of grief away

    Does sadness make sense
    In bouts, coming over us like a sickness
    That we catch unknowingly
    Staying with us till we reluctantly seek help?

    Written by
    Milomi

  • The Airport

    The airport is this place where everyone gets together, different destinations in mind, different routes to get there, different people to reach, but a common urge to go somewhere. It’s almost a gathering of dreamers, clutching tickets they believe might be that ‘change’ in their life.

    Clutching tickets to go explore a new place, maybe to seek a new purpose. Clutching tickets to go meet a new person, maybe test the waters. United in clutching tickets at this one point in space and time, diverging into openness, perhaps never meeting again.

    But everyone at the airport seeks something beyond. They urge to go somewhere and do something. To break out of the monotony of life, if only for a day. To experience, to make memories, how many ever they can.

    The airport can be the the dawn of beginnings and the drawing of ends. Someone out there is praying during take off, wondering what a new life looks like. Someone else on the same flight is reminiscing and regretting. Someone else maybe, is unsure about their future. While someone else knows what is to come and what’s expected of them. There’s a lot happening.

    In life, every point is a point we meet new people- who want to go to different places and do different things. You may meet them again, you may cling to them, you may forget their faces. But they still exist. They’re still battling problems, figuring out logistics, worrying, wondering, wandering, hoping they can find their way even after getting lost in the dark.

    Written by
    Milomi.

  • The Tells of Life- poem

    Life is feats, feasts, and fleeting.
    Filled with a shot of morning expresso and juice,
    War and peace.
    Life is trust and betrayal,
    Young and ancient,
    Surprising.
    Life is annoying alarms at 6am, blurred photographs, wet newspapers, broken dreams,
    Smuggled in with comfort and curiosity.
    Life is fascinating, forgetful, feared.
    Ringing with songs in the shower, crunching of autumn leaves, beautiful harmonies,
    Piece by piece,
    Fitting into a bigger puzzle.
    Life is tears, pain, and recovery.
    Hurt, guilt, and uncertainty.
    Sometimes overshadowed by belief, colour, and clarity.
    Sometimes not.

    Written by

    Milomi.

  • Dreams Dissolve- poem

    Dreams rush down the waterfall
    And stroke the pebbles on their way
    They gush and grumble, gawp and gossip,
    Growing with each day.

    They start off as mere droplets of water
    But are soon vast oceans of honey
    One can lick sprays, sprinkles, specks
    But cannot swallow a sea.

    Dreams finally reach the awaited estuary
    To meet a million more of their kind
    Mingling, murmuring, maneuvering
    Their fates, will their stars align?

    And so we go to scoop up our dreams
    Carrying fish nets instead of a bucket
    Letting our aspirations escape the lines of reality
    Wondering why our dreams don’t fit.

    We wonder why we can’t be fairies anymore
    Or be super-heroes, with Iron Man’s designs
    We look around at a rigid world
    We’re being taught to paint inside the lines.

    We wonder why we can’t be magicians anymore
    Why we can’t dance under the waterfall of dreams
    Wandering, waltzing, waking
    To realize that life isn’t what it seems.

    Written by
    Milomi.

    Image source: https://unsplash.com/photos/onIXxjH56AA

  • The City- poem

    Bombay thumps to a constant beat
    In rhythm with the blood that rushes through her
    Lanes and veins its way through the
    Narrower alleyways and streets.

    She pumps energy but groans when the sun
    Shines its presence onto her humble organ;
    She is happier when it thunders.

    Never failing, always feeling.
    Living her way into the orange streetlights at Queen’s Necklace and the
    Crowded vada-pav and pav-bhaji stalls and the
    Snoozing drivers in rickshaws and the
    Bustling coloured flower markets and the
    Merry-go-rounds by the salty sea-
    Pumping her blood to every nook and cranny she can find
    She shouldn’t leave anyone out.

    Bombay throbs with the noise and the pain
    With the heartbreaks and the tears
    Offering to stitch the wounds
    To perform the surgery most dreaded, and still
    Be alright.

    She laughs once the stars are up
    Pounding for them, living for them when they aren’t clouded.
    For the city is but a star,
    Radiating emotions, emitting life,
    Out into space.

    Written by
    Milomi.

    Image source: https://unsplash.com/photos/oc6fccnUVnA