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Overflowing Ideas.

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

  • Easier- poem

    Life was easier.

    (She took a deep breath.)

    Life was easier when my whole world boiled down to doll houses and a new remote control car

    A world where I wanted to be a fairy when I grew up.

    Life was easier when every day was a holiday and I was the protagonist in every story

    Stories with a happily ever after.

    Life was easier without the times I feel like Atlas holding up the sky

    Skies heavy with clouds, laden with storms.

    Life was easier back when paranoia was an inexperienced emotion, and worry was invisible

    And only pleasure twinkled and smiled.

    Life was easier back ‘then’. It always will be.

    (There was a pause. She shook her head, and went on.)

    Life was easier. But the beauty is in the struggle. In waking up every day. Knowing the world is out there to get you, but being able to storm through life; being as graceful as misty rain, as fierce as the striking thunder.

    Written by
    Milomi.

  • Steal- poem

    “I would steal the stars for you.
    Reach out and gobble them down
    And you’ll be able to see me twinkle-
    One last time.

    “I can go out bright and burning
    And you can wave at me as
    The sky claims me for its own
    Alleging me for thieving its stars

    “I’ll smile at you and shine for you
    And you can point me out to our kids
    I’ll be the first of our kind with a place in the skies
    Catching your kisses at night.

    “And so as my soul departs, I can say
    I stole the stars for you.
    And though I may not know now,
    You tell me everyday that it was worth it.”

    Written by
    Milomi.

  • Ablaze- poem

    This is a poem about how long ago, two things- paper and fire, fell in love. They yearned for each other, but every time they met their passion burned strong. And they’d inevitably be ash.

    ABLAZE

    Flame finds paper, and paper finds flame,
    They hold on to each other.
    When you know you’re playing a losing game,
    You’d want to survive one another.

    Paper was pretty, fire was passion,
    Because love will always trump all.
    They met often, without precaution,
    Not noticing their flaws and their fall.

    What happens if paper catches fire?
    What happens if they feel the pain?
    Will their sun still wear attire?
    Will their moons still wax and wane?

    What happens when love begins to burn?
    What happens when two powers clash?
    Time stills as paper and fire adjourn,
    Only to give way to cinders and ash.

    Written by
    Milomi.

    Image source: https://unsplash.com/photos/qiSITz9nJhs

  • Made Of- poem

    We are made of stories.
    Of memories of moments.
    Of blossoms that yearn for ink and paper.
    Of hearts that pump out instants and lifetimes.

    We are made of the special stuff
    Used in fairy tales
    Sprinkled and blown away. We’re made of
    Stars. Drawing from the Sun
    And the Suns around us.

    We are made of tiny things.
    Pieces from puzzles that don’t fit anywhere,
    Remnants of a rich story,
    Dust that blows from castles,
    Specks of left over coffee,
    Scraps of golden fabric.

    We are made to be human.
    We break, we bruise, we bleed,
    But our journey doesn’t stop
    We don’t stop sewing stories, bottling memories, writing our way through life.
    We shouldn’t stop.

    Written by
    Milomi.

    Image source: https://unsplash.com/photos/9pw4TKvT3po

  • 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.