The Deranged Thoughts Of A Girl

What's so great about palindromes?  The idea of a word sounding the same when you write it backwards, meaning the same when most of the others don't. Why are we so intrigued by this? Does it make you believe in something bigger? Maybe it's because we are always surrounded by words that lose its value when you turn it back. Maybe it's because it does feel nice to believe that even when you reach the end nothing is ever going to change. In a world full of uncertainties, some of us have always found comfort in words and some days I feel the words need us too to live.  A friend I made used to send me the poems he wrote. I don't know much about him but I know how he feels, how everyday makes him feel, how much he loves his close ones and how much he was hurting. He'd send me poems he wrote for his muse and I have kept them on a pedestal in my mind so that I can always remember this is how it must feel to be loved. His poems felt like a palindrome, one that could neve

We came into this world together With a promise to be each other's forever. The unspeakable bond was shaken wildly When I was given away to receive love from another. I would look at you being loved so dearly And wondered if you would ever want to come back. And when life started feeling empty without you, I started out on a journey alone. I collected happiness in excess  Not wanting to fall behind on memories to share when we finally reunite. I held smiles, praises and empathy tightly Never letting even a single emotion disappear. When we met again, I held the hands of an empty stranger. You spoke in a language I couldn't decipher, You expressed affection in a way I couldn't understand You told me you lost everything  While you stood waiting for me. A guilty feeling brooded over our company, Our moody skies and rainbows  Stood baffled unable to pass through a thin wall. We sat together in silence, One full of love and the other devoid, One in a wonderland and the other gro

  I wonder how you hold a hand over your gaping wound and forgive so tenderly, So softly like the eyes that meet the arrival of spring. For once I want you to enjoy spring to the fullest before you welcome summer. I wish you'd finally find it in yourself to let it out and heal your wounds So that we could watch winter in the warmth of each other. We all kept our worries a secret and didn't realise how they were the same. A little love and tenderness could have soothed our pain but we were so oblivious. And I watched you lower your shoulders with the heaviness of the burdens on your heart. I wonder if one day you'll wake up frightened realising how effortlessly it had held you down When your tender reassurances could have lifted them. I wonder if you'll listen to me when I ask you to let people go, forgive them for yourself, let yourself be loved the way you ought to be, And to give life a chance. I promise I'll come back to you when I have enough love to give to you

She wrote down his name in the front page of her book in tiny letters. She loved how wonderful it felt to leave the book around in the open with her affection for everyone to see and touch but no one ever noticed the gigantic messages hidden in those tiny letters. She would smile to herself for the little mysteries she created in her life. Sometimes she would purposely let him borrow her book and watched him look so clueless and oblivious to her love. The excitement that follows made her want to scream into the open that she was so ardently in love. She wrote down his name in page 33 of her book. They walked home together everyday and one day he told her that her smile reminded him of someone beautiful he knew. She couldn't sleep that night, she tossed and turned in her bed and then she rushed to her mirror and smiled. She looked lovely. She decided to tell him that she wanted him to be hers to hold, to love and to cherish. She wanted to surprise him with her confession. She asked

A bell in the back of my mind, It keeps counts, one, two, three, The numbers are lost on me now Stitching itself onto my skin,my eyes my conscience, my love. The closet I finally opened has locked me from inside In a bigger, vulnerable, scarier closet. I have nightmares of how people look at me, like A person that doesn't deserve to love Or to be loved. All because of the gender I chose. Four, five, six, I live in a bed of lies, the pillows Have collected the truths I cry about, My sexuality is hidden under the carpet Of understanding It screams everytime someone knocks on the door Only to be muffled by fibres of insecurity And lack of reassurance. Seven, eight, nine I could see the change in people's eyes When I finally walked out They never looked at me the same. My heart pushed me forward Telling me I deserve everything I deserve to experience as much as the next person My life was in shackles but my heart was free And little by little, it help

Pic credits: Tammy York Dear music How do I start this letter? Should I yell at you first or tell you about how grateful I am for your existence or should I just ask you the question I have always wanted to ask "How do you do it?".  I can't say that I have always been an ardent admirer of you. To be honest, I was more into fairy tales, stories and books when I was young. Not because I loved the stories or fell into the depth of all the words and meanings but because I felt like I was a part of a world that someone else made and they wanted someone to listen to it and I am a good listener. You see, I have always wanted to belong somewhere and the words made me a perfect cradle. But don't get jealous, I am here to talk about you.  I used to listen to you at night just so I can sleep. It's not poetic in any way, don't be mistaken. I had a crush then and when you arrived I could easily make impossible scenarios inside my head and go to sleep when my brain gets tir

Pic credits: Bobbi Whiteman. To my Man on the moon  There are two things I am absolutely terrible at : directions and writing secret letters. And the irony of it is almost funny because I can't stop thinking about all the places I would go and all the words I would splash on a piece of paper to let someone know that I love them with all of my being. You have to take credit for the ignited hope in my heart that hasn't been washed down by my interaction with others and I would always be grateful to you for that. I do confuse myself sometimes. I remember the most strangest things about places. How the sun shines a little differently on the east side of the park, or how the leaves refuse to let out a scrunching sound on that particular lane because of all the shade, or how a wind blows as I walk down that small road from where I can see my home at exactly 6:26pm. I know it sounds all stupid, it probably might be but anything to hear you laugh. Seriously though, I got lost in a mall

Art by Owen Gent The scorching heat of the afternoon was unbearable, clothes melting into the skin, bodies becoming a salty sea, and minds wandering around frenzied. Estha, Rahel and Sophie mol looks like they are having the times of their lives, running around in the sun, playing in the boat. The sound of their laughter pierces through the walls of the old house, holding it together. Holding the image I have of my home together, a house that creaks with my past, drunk odours, the sounds of fathers slapping mothers and of sons slapping fathers. Their laughter feels like a small version of me picking up all the scattered pieces of the image with bleeding hands telling me 'one day, this will be home.' ..... I slowly undress myself, removing each piece of clothing and savouring the restricted air touching me. I step inside. As the water slowly makes its way, touching every part of my body I remember Velutha. I rest my head against the wall and wish it was his shoulder, the one whe

 I have always hated endings. Be it a sad movie, a car ride, a lunch date, a conversation, the mere inevitability that all things come to an end. Be it good or bad. The bolt of relief for the latter immediately being replaced by ingratitude.  But I have always loved beginnings and the 'in-betweens'.  The last time I went for a car ride, I couldn't stop thinking how much the music had affected my surroundings. A happy song lifted the spirits of everyone inside and outside, in the middle it was like the whole world had become a part of a big musical if they liked it or not, but the end was always a disaster. The people still rushing by without even giving a thought to the end beat, the trees swaying way too energetically for an ending, the snoring of your sibling sitting right next to you, you just know this was not the ending you wanted. It's the same with any trip. Even though I fuss a lot about the whole journey, I secretly love sitting in the same position until I fee

He wakes up to the music playing in his room. He lies on his back and stares blankly at the ceiling. Then again at the decrepit music system he refuses to throw out. It was a gift, and for him it was a machine of memories. The actual owner was a lady, a music lover herself. The majority kind, the ones that love to listen but can't sing even in their dreams. Maybe that is why she loved Mark. A singer that lived in black and white until he met her. When Mark died, she stopped listening to music. She decided to give away the music player altogether, an action that made one think that she didn't want any remnants of his existence. But then again she gave it to him, her nextdoor neighbour. One can't help but think that everytime he plays his music, she dances in her hallway with Mark's soul. *You make me feel like, I've been locked out of heaven, for too long.* (Locked out of heaven- Bruno Mars) He looks over to the naked woman sleeping next to him. He doesn't rememb

The world is spinning around so fast around me, I feel like I am not even a part of it. But here I am in an overpriced dress, sitting in a coffee shop, holding the coffee cup a little too tightly, taking occasional sips and pretending that it was saving me. Is this even my favourite coffee shop? Why does the coffee taste like this- a little sway from being perfect? It irritates me even more. I know something can be done to fix the coffee but I can't exactly point it out. My life feels the same. Should I take control and ask them to make me another cup? Oh, the girl looks naive. I will just chuck it. I was getting late anyway. Maybe that is what is wrong with me. Pointing it out.  When your love life is a mess, the last place you want to be is at a wedding. Is it just me or is the happiness in the room pissing all of you? It's just me, it's just me. Why does everything look like a reminder that I am unhappy. I need to get out of here. I will just collect myself and be there

Chapter - 4 Love,love, love, where do I start? I loved being in love. No, I love being in love. I fell in love with eye contacts and smiles the moment I heard stories of long-lost loves. The ones where they promised to come back but wasn't heard of after, lost in time and wars.The ones where they confessed to each other only through eyes and hesitated to attend a get together party 23 years later being another's spouse. The ones that got lost in letters,in diaries, in terrible sights and in their smiles when they hear the word 'love'.  I love words. I love how I'd have to pause in between love stories and giggle. I remember finishing 'The God of Small things' and thinking how much Velutha loved Ammu and the most beautiful part is she knew. I remember praying for Cecilia and Robbie to reunite halfway through the book 'Atonement'. I love characters even though they are the writer's imaginations. The writers are strange creatures, they have the imme

I feel like a 13year old when I see a park, a 16-year old when I am on a swing and feel my whole body lift off the ground, 19 years old when my heart fills with joy at the resonating sounds of laughs about how stupid I look. I was 13 years old when I saw you in a different light for the first time, thought it wasn't love because I had no insects in my stomach,but you felt like my person and somehow that wasn't enough, 16 year old when I almost gave my number to the most sweetest guy I know, felt like a 19 year old when I realised that I didn't want to go through any of it again. I feel like a 13 year old whenever I cry, 16 when I tell myself I shouldn't cry in front of others because I am old, 19 when I realise I can cry even more and loudly this time around. I was 13 years old when I loved to talk with people, all swarmed around me, 16 when I finally started opening up to people, 19 years old when I realise I crave for a talk over dinner and beach visits with my f

From the sunsets we drew in our notebooks to the ones we shared with our loved ones, it has been a long journey. No matter what happens in our life, we would all learn to love again. Our hearts were made to be soft and vulnerable. It will elapse through the most toughest of times and still beat soft in the face of affection. The most heart-warming miracle and it is all the more lovable because both you and me have witnessed it, even if it was for a fleeting moment. When you get to talk to your bestfriend after a constant struggle to make time for each other. Or when she suddenly texts you that she misses you. Or when he holds your hand for a few seconds. Or when you see someone happy just because of you. Maybe once in a while, we should let these moments make us feel whole. To understand the presence of our existence. A purpose for our flawed and scarred heart. You could be running around your room with no pants on to find one so that you wouldn't miss the sunset. Becaus