
Your hair is winter fire,
January embers.
My heart burns there, too.

Your hair is winter fire,
January embers.
My heart burns there, too.
/may-rah-kee/ Greek
(n.) To do something with soul, creativity or love: to put something of yourself into your work

i write books
on your eyes
on your fire
on the lie you told me would remain forever
isn’t love a sacred promise
you stole mine, what else do you want?
you want all the words i write too?
trust me, you have enough
you’ll never realize
but you had enough
and you still do
i don’t know
if i’m letting you fade
or just
letting myself fade
writing about you
Okay. So I had once upon a time been challenged to complete a sort of survey (not survey) by my very inspiring senior blogger friend – Udita.
And today, on day 18 since the Secret Tragic Event, here I am to complete unfinished business (that sounds so supernatural-ish).
Check out her post here –
https://runningoutofcreativity.com/2020/02/02/ill-ask-myself/

interesting question. the problem here is that i am not such a great poet as to compare myself to any other poets out there. but if i cast that very crucial piece of info aside, then, i guess atticus. his words are down forth tattoo-able. add a bit of nikita gill, rupi kaur, walt whitman, john green (I stole this from you, Udita) into the mix.
according to me, i incorporate imagery but i don’t really know. i don’t usually let others read my work.
depends on my mood really. can do both. but when i’m not writing poetry, i’m writing songs. so go figure.
ideas come knocking at the most unlikely times, like just when you are about to sleep. many a times, i have disrupted my sleep cycle to write down ideas that sounded mind-blowing at 3 am but were utter crap. i have a box of pieces of paper with ideas, so messily-organized is more my style?
ocean. the vast endless liquid velvet that falls off the end of the world? the part of yourself you never knew but always suspected was there? yes please.
your art is not about how many people like your work your art is about if your heart likes your work if your soul likes your work it's about how honest you are with yourself and you must never trade honesty for relatability - to all you young poets
rupi kaur
i write about change and evolution. whether the subject of the evolution is people or the landscape around them is never the question ’cause one can’t exist without the other.
dreams of real events. i dream my reality and then i bring my dreams to reality.
i write for the universe.
why, you ask. (i know you didn’t ask. but for the sake of being a good sport, let’s pretend that you did)
i write because that’s all i know how to do.
the worst thing about my writing is that, it doesn’t make sense, even to me. and that is also the best thing about my writing.
the truth? my heart’s still burning over you.
it’s not my best and i know i can write better but something about this line reminds me about the crazy, insane absolutely mad things you would do for something/someone you love. it’s not about the person or thing that you love, it’s about what lengths you would go to and this line captures that feeling.
if it’s not utter crap, it’s complete. if i have to edit it, then i never understood the complete extent of the idea, in the first place and am not the best person to try and convey the idea.
well, usually poems are fully formed in my head and its my physical limitations that take time. so, if it’s a long piece and my best handwriting is used, about 2-3 hours, if it’s a short piece and my best handwriting is used, it ranges from seconds to minutes.
i couldn’t resist turning it into a supernatural meme, sorry.

obvi, i love cas, sorry, i mean, angels.
it has been scientifically proven that vitamin d improves the style of poetry and makes it stronger. i don’t make the rules, sorry.
water. soft enough to comfort you and harsh enough to make you face your fears.
abraham maslow’s heirarchy of needs pyramid works on the principle that self actualization/happiness (which is the top of the pyramid) cannot be met without fulfilling the needs below it.

so, safety first, happiness, later.
4th grade, 9 year old me wrote a poem about a fat cat. i don’t know if that counts. from, 6th grade, i’ve been writing serious, honest-to-myself poetry. haven’t stopped since then and i guess that is why i’m writing this today.
this is one of the hardest questions i have been asked. if i had to choose one, it would be john green, for sure and before you tell me he isn’t a poet, let me tell you, he is. an undiscovered one, sure, but a poet nonetheless.

“it takes getting everything you ever wanted
and then losing it to know what true freedom is”
this is from the monologue of lana del rey’s song, ride.
the thing is, i would really like my words to be well known, whether i’m well known or not is not really relevant, at least to me.
i prefer slow but some things are meant to be frantic and i’ve made my peace with that.
the colour of magic, changing everyday, today, it’s silver.
not who but what. my new poems, usually go in my diary that i maintain for poems, if they are very good, they also go in my art journal.
usually honest and dark.
my pulse skipped in fear today, i'm not gonna run from my fears, today, my fears are gonna run from me.
wow. that doesn’t even make sense.
au revoir!
The Universe is a poem…

“Why do you write so much, love?” he asked me.
Why do I write?
When I think about you, babe, my head goes crazy with the thoughts.
I wonder how to stop myself from going insane. The answer is I can’t. I can’t stop myself from going insane.
That’s why I write. I write so much because I can’t stop thoughts. I write and write and write because the only way I can live the next moment is by writing.
Not because I like to.
Not because I want to.
But because I need to.
I need to write to stop myself from getting killed.
I need to write to survive.
I need to write to breathe.
Breathe from the thoughts of you that might kill me.
“I like writing,” is my not – so – honest answer to him.
Gracias.
You must be logged in to post a comment.