Eyes

has no one ever told you that
your eyes aren’t brown?

your gaze has borrowed from a hundred places
a colour I’d use to paint a million pictures
clay, I think,
soft clay from the hills and valleys
with the spring-kissed earth
on those postcards you send
only to the ones you love.
your eyes have every shade of colour I ever gathered
as a child from the old pebble beach,
and golden specks; I’m certain
the sun once danced in you.
the falling leaves of autumn
have swirled into the way you look at me,
teaching me new languages,
of storms, of sentiment, and of silence.
surely,
if the smell of rain was made of a colour,
your eyes would be its name.

did the fireflies learn from your piercing gaze?
I know I want to.
I know the stars slipped out last night,
with only your eyes as their excuse.
I’ve mastered the art of tiptoeing past
the crackle at their surface,
and into the beckoning flame.
a kind of candlelight;
searing at the edges, yet
gentle at the core

13/05/17

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Reasons To Stay Alive

Best friends. Paperclips. Post-its. Piano. To travel. Purple notebooks. To learn to play the violin. And the cello. Paper Valentine’s roses. The smell of vanilla. Stars. Sunlight. Sunrises. Sunsets. Clouds. Paperclip hearts. Rain. Music. Cats. Dogs. Math. Cheesecake. Strawberry cheesecake ice-cream. To ice-skate. Doughnuts. Krispy Kreme. Emails. Octopuses. Shooting stars. Blogs. The moon. The night. Peanut butter and banana milkshakes. Nutella crepes. New York City. Brown University. Paul Rudd. Matt Haig. Pool Jump. Trust Fall. Pancakes. Hiking. Drama. Tents. Mangoes. Summer. Loose tees. Black tees. Adam Sandler movies. Shoes. Listening. Lele Pons videos. The smell of laundry. The smell of ironed clothes. Drive-in cinema. Leg-haemoglobin. Bubble wrap. Plastic ruler rainbows. Thunder. Lightning. Dark nights. Lists. Petrichor. Dew drop sundaes. Camp. Karl von Frisch. Banana fritters. Bathrooms. Thermocol. Skipping stones. Perfect Day. Rare gems. To visit the Roseville Cemetery. Autumn colours. Cheese fondue and chocolate fondue. Tiles. Knees. Flyovers. Rubber bands. Sangria. Dawn. Hair getting in people’s way. Fairylights. Wooden flooring. Wedding rings. Wedding gowns. Arguments. Construction sites. Making notes. To set foot in Antarctica. The length of this post. Spanish accents. Yellowing newspaper articles. Shiny things. Polaroids. Ravioli. Pizza. 12 AM. Saying “It’s tomorrow”. Tea plantations. Exclamation marks! Tummies. Mumma’s sandwiches. Black ink. Lighthouses. Bubbles. Massages. Harry Potter. Cards. Neon lights. Birthdays. Letters. Kisses. Hugs. Movie-like hugs. Books. New books. Old books. Feeding animals in the zoo. Bathroom singing. Turtles. Holding hands. White sauce pasta. Mud. The smell of furniture. Packing. City lights. Brown paper packages. To drive an auto. Baking. Frisbees. Lab coats. Flight take-offs. Aeroplane views. Biscuit factories. Helicopters. Cruises. Bokeh effect. Straight collars. Capital letters. Gardening. Words. TV shows. To visit Bali again. Surfing. Tiger. Crushes. Peeling stickers off perfectly. To name my future dog Pig. Dreams. Ukuleles. The word negligible. Pebbles. Formaldehyde. Lullabies. To clean my cupboard. Puffed-up cheeks. Kiwi. Selfies. That church in Lyon. Ice-cream sandwiches. Visits from friends in the UK. Windows. Forehead kisses. Kinetic theory. Drawing on my back. Phone calls. Chopin. Sarees. Food at Indian weddings. School. Blurry photos. Mitochondria. Whining. Crying. Biomolecules. Last days. First days. Bridges. Castles. Analog watches. British accents. Reese Witherspoon. Emma Watson. Underwear in solid colours. Driving. The Northern Lights. South Korea. To meet Chris. Puerto Vallarta. Wives. Husbands. Secret admirers. Flames. Curly hair. Chocos. Diaries. Small bottles. Folding clothes. Dolls. To earn a license to cook pufferfish. Miniature things. Music boxes. Cheese frankies. Schubert’s Serenade. Bus rides. Hugs. Hugs. Snow. Oversized jackets. Warm fingers. Sweat. Sea shells. 10 rupee coins. Falling asleep to the sound of waves. Falling asleep. Swingsets. Spell bees. Head-pats. Pillows. Blankets. Lanterns. Docks. Umbrellas. Lame jokes. Tea with Parle-G. Needing to update this list multiple times. Margot Robbie. Ionic Equilibrium. Angels. Shoulder blades. Red velvet cupcakes. Hearts. Cake pops. Tiny tattoos. Twix. Sketches. Paint. Elastic collisions. m&ms. In the bathtub. Brown m&ms. Trophies. Medals. Smiles. Real smiles. Lip-biting smiles. Glass factories. Coconut ice-cream with roasted cashew nuts. In a coconut shell. 7. 13. Marbles. Monday mornings. College research. Views. Lakes. Disney. Walks. Parks. Footpaths. Cheese quesadillas. Magic. Chalk. Wax statues. Reflections. Mitosis slides. Socks. The blue dress from Cinderella. Poetry. Because the other option isn’t flexible. Pop Tarts. Giggles. Pollax pens. Puffcorn. Being right. Feeling loved. Scribbling over sigma symbols. Skipping. Romantic Era music. Quotes. Old sheet music. Bedsheets. Cycling. Colouring books. Baby photos. Sandcastles. Cream cheese frosting. Radha. Terraces. Ladders. Diwali. Otsukimi. Kyoto. Ramen. Maggi. Notebook shopping. Girls in shorts. Alex Turner. Elaine Bradley. Slide-making. Video games. Linguistics. China Cove. White wallabies. Subway cookies. Train tracks. Melting crayons. Laughing. Melted chocolate. Dark chocolate. Wristbones. Lemon lava cakes. Starry skies. Candlelight dinners. Love. Darkness. Light-ness. Bad things. Good things. A lot of things.

From the Moon and Stars

Dear Dark Night

You don’t give yourself the credit you deserve. Sunshine, for some reason, equates to happiness (they call it “sunniness”) in the world we live in. People crave light. People see themselves in the daylight. It reassures their insecure selves.

How powerful you must be, dark night, for you make me feel beautiful when I cannot see myself, by only whispering into my head what I look like to you. You make me feel like magic.

Dear Dark Night,

You’ve taught me to make sense of the mess I am to create the matchless constellations that fascinate people so. 

Dear Dark Night,

Thank you for teaching me that sometimes it’s okay not to shine. And that never should the sun’s shining make me feel unimportant or irrelevant. I have to come back graceful, brighter, and more divine and know that I’m worth everything when the sun isn’t.

Dear Dark Night, 

Thank you for knowing to summon the clouds for me to hide behind whenever I needed. And for convincing me I must come back each time, because I am needed.

Dear Dark Night,

Thank you for coaxing me out of my retreat every time my flickering threatened to die out. I’m so lucky I can be confident that our love means you would be dull in my absence. Your sky would be less well-lit. I couldn’t ever do that to you.

Dear Dark Night,

You’re always there when I am, and I am ever so grateful for that. Your constant presence in my life comforts when I feel lonely, for you ensure that I’m never really alone.

Dear Dark Night,

Never doubt that you’re beautiful. Exquisite. Truly denightful. Never feel like no one sees you. You are not an absence. You are not a substitute for the sunshine when it needs to rest. You are irreplaceable and capable of things I, and everyone else, can only depend on you for.

Dear Dark Night,

You are, after all, what makes the moon and stars worth looking at.

Love,

Your Moon and Stars.

wp-1484398118100.jpg

Angel

There are ten million people in the city tonight
And one angel.
Touching souls,
Plotting promises of good days to come
Where screams once painted sleepless nights.
“Everything will be okay, honey.”

“I won’t ever recover from this.”
Broken shards of glass
Still shine in the light.
Still can be picked up and
United to reflect the colours of your dearest dreams.
Don’t give up.
You have to win.

“Okay, I want to.
But isn’t zero worth more than a minus thousand?”

Every life is a pile of good things and bad things, he says.
The good things don’t always soften the bad, 
But the bad things don’t spoil the good.
It isn’t a minus thousand.
It’s a hundred, and a minus five, and a seven, and a minus thirty.
Numbers are your friends.
Zero isn’t worth anything.

“I no longer believe that there exist good things.
I can’t think of any; there must not
be any.”

If you stare at the sky long enough, he teaches,
You begin to see the stars.

“I see them now,” I realize, in awe.
He smiles at me until my smile is no longer under my own control.
The angel that lit up my life.

Love,
Ta-treyi.
8/1/17

The Dark Night

​Sunshine brings life, yes, but
I seek shadows for comfort when I’m alone.

Scars shine in the moonlight.
It’s thunderstorms that conceal my tears
Hide the stars, cloak the moon, 
Eclipse all light
So no one stares
As they weep with me,
Flashing lightning in snatches
To illuminate my grateful smile.

People think of these as mere absences,
But silence is a saviour
From all my commotion, and

The dark night is, after all,
What makes the moon and stars worth looking at.

-Maitreyi

http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap160214.html

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Starry Sky

My Angel, I smile
As my closed eyes fly open; this time
In colourful dreams –
The nightmares never come.

Because should I awaken with
the ghost of my scream from last night on my lips,
I know you’ll be there
Whispering it’s okay, hush, it’s okay

And maybe you’ll listen to me sleep,
Watching over me with your warmth,
A moonbeam in the gloom.

Mon ciel étoilé,
My starry sky.

Rien n’est éternel, mais notre amitié est pour toujours et à jamais.

Love,
Ta-treyi.

http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/image/1408/HollowHillwithHans.jpg

The Starry Sky

http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap140830.html