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Overflowing Ideas.

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

  • Out of Time

    We find a way to make our lives busy. It’s what keeps us going. It’s the drive, the joy, the work, that we somehow enjoy. And when given free time, we make ourselves busy again. Not ready to sit back and do nothing because something deserves your attention.

    We end up missing our hobbies, our passions. We pass our time doing work that doesn’t have to be done and doing things that don’t need to be done. We complain of having lost touch, but it’s our own outlook that makes us lose touch with the things we like.

    It’s our own choices, our own decisions that lead to this. And it’s our choice that can get us back. It’s choosing joy over boredom and choosing your own satisfaction and need over something trivial. If we lose touch with the things that make us ‘us’, we are as good as emotionless beings. Not even human.

    If we lose touch with our joy, our smiles, our excitement, we don’t make sense. We are built upon our joy- what happens if we don’t have any? Who are we without the things that make us happy and content and free?

    Written by
    Milomi.

  • Greater Grief- poem

    It is as much of a curse to you,
    For having left the earth.
    And as much, maybe more of a curse to me,
    To be left without you.

    To be forced to live in a world
    Without your laugh. Your
    Shining eyes. Your
    Warm voice. Your-

    Self. I walked onto this earth,
    Knowing that if you left, I’d never return.
    If you left, I’d lose myself
    In this sea of identities, of humanity.

    Time and time again, I go search for myself
    I look under our mattress
    I sneak behind your closet
    I even peek into my pocket, wondering if I pick-pocketed my character and hid it from the world.

    But time and time again, I realize
    That I would always find myself in you.
    That I was a part of you, and you were a part of me,
    And somewhere- we held ourselves together.

    Somewhere, our hearts spilled messily
    And we became ours.
    We were our everything when we had each other
    And now I wonder, who am I?

    Sometimes I see you beckoning me from the shadows,
    I edge nearer, but you fade. I lose you, again.
    And in that, I know- that if I let myself go, I’ll find you-
    If I try.

    Somewhere on earth, my dust touched yours and clung on to it
    One instant lasted a lifetime.
    Somewhere in our minds, we were reunited
    Clinging to each other, for the lifetimes that followed.

    Written by
    Milomi.

    Inspired by: The Song of Achilles- Madeline Miller. “And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone.”

  • Run in the Rain

    I crane my head to see myself amidst a sea of umbrellas. They are bobbing and bustling by, weaving paths around me. The people are looking down with their coats drawn up to their ears. And I stand there- unadorned and the odd one out.

    Do I need an umbrella? Or is it fine if I just get wet and laugh and throw my hands up in the air and jump like a kid? Is it fine if I steer away from convention and listen to my heart; telling me to make the best of this?

    I slowly walk away from the mass of umbrellas towards an open space. Looking up the sky I open my hands and smile at the rain that falls on my face. Had I been in a museum, I’d be sculpted into another art piece. But right then, I was my own art. I was experiencing the wet as well as embracing the wild and I was a flurry of thought and emotion.

    It was liberating, really. I heard the people walk past and double back to stare at me. I could see their thoughts and amusement and disapproval. I could feel their eyes boring into the back of my head. But all these thoughts were drowned by the joy, the freedom, the passion I was living through at that moment.

    On my way back, I didn’t notice how I was soaked to the skin; how I stank of mud and dew; how my clothes were clinging to me; how I was shivering. I only noticed the rising feeling in my chest. It felt like my whole world was smiling.

    Written by
    Milomi.

  • Mirror- poem

    Is that me in the mirror?
    Winking, grinning, laughing,
    Wearing a different face. A different
    Way of life, not recognized,
    Never followed
    By myself.

    Do we go by the same name?
    Because we don’t fit
    Clashing more horribly than a band out of tune
    Writhing, chafing against chains,
    That bind me to the me in my mirror.

    But I know that is not me.

    We still are in the same place,
    Before the same walls with faded paints
    The same room with messy sheets
    Mimicking each other- playing out a long drawn game
    Waiting to see who cracks first.

    But what if the mirror cracks before we do?
    Under the intensity of our gazes
    Will I see enter another world
    To strangle the me staring at myself in my mirror?
    Or will the mirror shatter
    And adorn my room with shards of what once was
    An illusion?

    That can’t be me in the mirror.
    Talking, shrugging, singing,
    Eyes twinkling on a different face. A different
    Person altogether, not recognized,
    Not mirrored
    By myself.

    Written by
    Milomi.


  • Spinning Off A Star- poem

    I hold on to the spinning rock
    Shining as it goes around
    I hug it, hope it won’t throw me off,
    But if I fall, I won’t reach the ground

    Am I seen in a constellation?
    Is my star twinkling in your sky?
    Will you know if it goes off orbit?
    Will you know if I die?

    Help is a billion miles away
    Will my siren be heard?
    If I wave my arms and send up a flare
    Will someone be stirred?

    I’ll lose my voice screaming loud
    Is that something I can live without?
    When all that lives inside my head is
    Madness, chaos, and doubt.

    What happens if I let go
    Silently hoping I make it out alive?
    Losing control, conscience, and consciousness
    If I spiral off, will I survive?

    Written by
    Milomi.

    Image source: https://unsplash.com/photos/f7YQo-eYHdM

  • Stage- poem

    Heart hammering,
    You take your place. Making
    Last minute adjustments.
    A smudge of makeup
    A hair out of place
    A button left unbuttoned.

    Stammering,
    Flushing under the gaze of a
    Hundred people- no, there must be more.
    Watching expectantly
    (As you wile away time)
    Waiting for you to begin your show.

    It’s glamouring,
    The lights, the diamonds, the shine.
    Testing the mic
    Holding yourself tight
    You begin.
    Your tightness soon unravelling to show your candour.

    Clamouring,
    Outside the hall. Upheaval, chaos,
    Intruding upon your show.
    Amidst the noise, you hear. Clear.
    A match being lit. A gun being cocked.
    Heart hammering.

    Bells ringing in your ears.
    You run off the stage, grab people.
    You shout, you scream, you search for safety.
    Bells, bells, bells, bells, bells.
    Ducking, head between your knees, in an exit. Not willing to accept
    The biggest bell. The fire.

    Written by
    Milomi.

  • Running Out Of Ink- poem

    What does an author write about once all the flowers have been described?

    Intricately, touching upon every detail

    From its attracting nature to the way it tilts to the breeze to the way its petals bleed hues so bright they hurt the eye.

    Once the author has criticised the way people drive cars and don’t see the beauty of life

    And continue living and loving, not noticing the true essence of being?

    Once the author has exhausted the characters of their stories

    Whilst tying up all loose ends and creating wonderful endings?

    What does the author do after the fire has burned too bright for too long, white and blinding,

    When feeding it more wood will do it no good because it is powerful enough?

    Does the author insist on dowsing fire in fuel and twigs, knowing that the flames might lick it up but won’t be fiercer?

    Or does the author let the fire do what fire does without food- burn, crackle, and fizzle out? Hoping they have it in them to build another fire for more light.

    Written by,

    Milomi.

  • Appreciate

    Every day, we go through media- books, music, movies, shows on TV, newspaper articles, radio interviews and so on. It’s a way to communicate and be in touch with the rest of the world.

    A lot of us choose to go through this media treating it like a task. We skim through pieces and fast forward our minds to the next page without finishing. We mindlessly skip songs and switch stations, not listening to lyrics and seeing art for what it truly is.

    We don’t see creators scribbling and painstakingly putting together words to tell a story. We don’t wait for a few seconds to let the beauty of paragraphs settle into us, to bask in the fortune of being exposed to these pieces of art. We read, we listen, not processing nor understanding, focused on finishing than enriching and enjoying.

    We hop from page to page, finally forgetting authors and stories, wanting to get on to the next train because life is only so long. Our dreams may as well outlive us. What stops us from sprinting away, not worrying about breaks or breaths? What stops us from trying to fly and build wings, to try reach beyond the horizon?

    Then one day, we will grab a pair of glasses and the nearest magazine and turn to the editorials. We will absorb each sentence letting everything sink in, thumb over paragraphs, not noticing our wet eyes or the way our breath catches after every flourish. We will wonder why we didn’t see the world through these lenses, and strive to keep these hues in mind.

    Written by,
    Milomi.

    Image source: https://unsplash.com/photos/4NZlogMPIp0

  • Trapped Within Pages- poem

    This is a poem about two people from a book written by an author, and what they feel while trapped withing the pages of creation.

    TRAPPED WITHIN PAGES

    We belong to two natures,
    (Though we most belong to paper)
    Two poles. North and South,
    Switching between the two shades
    As easily as black changes to white
    In seconds. Deceiving illusions.

    But don’t opposite poles attract?
    Doesn’t the math of the cosmos and the
    Beauty of numbers and papers and theories and nature
    Ever account for something? And are our thoughts ever heard?

    Doesn’t ink bind us together?
    Yellowing pages with signs and names and symbols
    Written over and over painstakingly. Do those now
    Mean nothing?

    It feels like our future is written out
    Laid out. Our destinies are tangled,
    They say our stars intertwine,
    But stars lie sometimes, don’t they?

    Are we forever bound to pages?
    Bound to a story planned out, thought out, printed and published,
    Paged through, glanced at, swallowed and loved.
    Do we ever live our own story after the last sentence has ended,
    Do we toy with imagination?

    Written by
    Milomi.

    Image source: https://unsplash.com/photos/50tgJatVHPQ

  • Entranced- poem

    Can one dream so vividly
    That reality is distorted? The mind is
    Lost in the folds of a blanket
    Called memory

    Wide-eyed, searching for the same
    Joy, freedom, magic,
    Found in a dream. Soaking in
    The richness of this place

    Senses overwhelmed with bright stars
    That hurt the head, but
    Soothed by the comfortable scent of
    Caramel and cinnamon.
    Once again, plunging into darkness not knowing what to expect

    New acquaintances made, heads nodded, hands shook,
    Shouldering coats, tipping hats, crunching gravel underneath shoes,
    Roses offered, gloves kissed, heels spun on too quick.

    Walking through a fairytale
    Under curtains of crystals
    Watching the sky fade to early dawn
    Stars twinkling in, announcing your return
    You wake up. And your dream has just begun.

    Written by
    Milomi.

    Inspired drawn from a book- The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern.

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