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Disaster

Disaster

In case of a forest fire,
People are taught to turn away are run.
Run till the glimmer of destruction
looks like a beacon of hope.

In case of an earthquake,
People are taught to find open fields;
lie down and sleep till the shaking ground
feels like a forgotten lullaby.

I have known love,
like I have known disaster.

So, in case of a heartbreak,
I run.
As far as I can.
As fast as I can.
Till all I can see is a beacon.
Till all I can feel is the humming of a lullaby.

And I land in a forest.
Pre-disaster.

City of Stars

City of Stars

*city of stars playing in the background*

 

I often go out on long walks;

palms a little sweaty

skies a little starry.

On nights like these

I often miss:

eyes to drown in

palms to fit it

lips to lock in.

I haven’t understood love

ever.

It has been like a foreign language to me.

I see people conversing in them; effortlessly.

And here I am,

a little too impatient,

a little too prone to

lose things in translation.

But on nights like these;

I am a little hopeful,

a little naïve.

I am blind to love.

Deaf to languages.

Scared to admit.

 

But on nights like these;

I am a little hopeful,

a little naïve.

So, appear.

I will be out on the walks

for quite some time.

Even a fortnight (If it comes that).

I still don’t understand love.

It is still like a foreign language to me.

But when you come,

I will raise my hand,

Leave messages on these stars

(that people write on rocks)

in dots and dashes – the way my heart

skips beats when I see you.

and hopefully,

you will know morse.

The prompt was "Night sky, the moon, stars, and of a romantic tone" given by Nivid Desai.
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Featured Artwork by Aditi Shastry. To see more of her work check out her Instagram
The girl who loved the oceans

The girl who loved the oceans

It was said that she used to carry

every favourite memory

with her; in a clenched fist.

every favourite thing

on her shelf.

and I would ask,

Where are the oceans

that you love with all your heart?

She would say

“Look into my eyes, silly”

And, I would drown.

Every

Single

Time.

Blur

Blur

Imagine a Grand Prix.
Final lap.
Cars rushing like meteors.
Crashing and Burning,
Twisting and Turning.
That’s how thoughts run
in this tiny head on mine.
That’s the anatomy of the
mind of an over-thinker.
Like auto-correct suggestions
on a keypad;
we think of possibilities.
Like fishing with a thousand
hooks;
we pluck probabilities.
We don’t carry a halo
on our heads.
We carry a blur on our faces.
No No No No No,
We aren’t the faceless.
We are just looking at the
processes running in the background.
Nothing surprises us.
What you are thinking
is already been thought
when we were thinking of
what you will think
when we tell you what we
think when you think of
what we are thinking.

Mind-fuck?
Yes,
That’s our perpetual state
of being.

 

Featured Image captured and edited by @icapturethee

Anonymous

Today’s Prompt: To all the poor ugly folks who know that they will never be anyone’s first preference. To all the broken lonely souls who are locked deep in the chamber of insignificance. To all those who remain a shade in the shadow; its not the starlight that’s not reaching you but its the heart that’s refusing to shine!

I am the side kick.
The second favourite child.
The shirt you settled for.
I am the insignificant one.
The “others” that you refer to?
That’s me.
Hell, I am not even the face of “others”.
I am the faceless.
I am the one who has no name.
And no, that, by the way, doesn’t make me precious snowflake.
I am the snowflake that tripped and fell while coming down the stairs.
I am broken.
But I mended myself.
But the cracks are visible.
Like white stitches on black trousers.
And I was told that it makes me special.
It doesn’t.
There are far too many broken souls out there who are waiting
with their hearts open with glowing signs at the door that spells “Waiting Room”.
And last time I checked, no one gives a fuck about glowing signs on a highway.
I am not complaining that the light isn’t shining on me.
It is.
But I am at the brink of the spotlight.
Visible, but not enough.
There’s light inside, yes.
And that’s what keeps me going.
But I am never going to be visible.
Even if I make a body transformation.
Get blue eyes.
Increase my biceps’ size.
Because the light just brightens up my hallways.
And everyday, it’s a party.
But it doesn’t go out.
And how will it?

I have painted the windows black.

 

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