lavenderscars
Lavender Scars
Brace yourself for my brain vomit.
Love, Somya
25 posts
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
teamnatali
Team Natali Germanotta
glittering-snowfall
My Elsanna Haven
brdmuse
*multi / muse
inuyashaisgod
in the bleak midwinter.
mrmichaelchadler
Michael D. Chandler Tumblr
Text
Welcome to a world where politicians only care about votes.
While the dead bodies pile up.
Investing in statues, architecture, a new parliament, the Central Vista. #CentralVistaProject
Hiding the official figures, stopping labs from taking tests, shielding cremation grouds with tin sheets.
There's death in his hands, its out for all to see.
Delhi govt imposes a 14 day quarantine period for the khumb mela attendees. But how do we track them?
What if they flee?
The government waste resources to no avail.
People die asking for help.
More people die from lack of beds, oxygen, ICUs, Ventilators.
#second wave#pandemic#Covid crisis in india#govt apathy#central vista project#narendra modi#Khumb mela
1 note
·
View note
Text
Hollower today. In the middle of the moon's supreme reign, I jostle up from my death. If that was sleep, its the same cage I think I fall asleep in. There's not a soul around, just like its always been, just like its ought to be for a hundred tragic springs. There are no tooth fairies, no peaceful monster purring under my bed, no spirit lurking in the shadows cast by the gliding blinds. Bumpy sores from mosquito bites on the nape of my neck. Fill yourself up and empty me out, motherfuckers. Eyelids heavy, and I am hollower today.
-Somya
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Some moments I feel like I have been left unguided in the world, after a lifetime of solitary confinement in a dark cell. I've carried over the blankness and blandness into this world. Everything's reeling and somehow I'm sprawling on a hard surface, which is the only thing keeping me stable. My eyes are weak. When I move my fingers over the bed, the wooden table or even my own skin, its as if I'm doing this for the first time. As if I've lost touch with reality, as if the physical world is defamiliarized altogether.
-Somya
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Where are you off to?
You come to my mind
Like snippets of half-forgotten poetry
And go away
Like a capsizing yatch : sinking in me
Only to reappear at the shore of my mind at a different hemisphere, at another time.
-Somya
#sinkinme#gone#snippets#poetry#writers on tumblr#spilled thoughts#geography of the mind#paint it mellow
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Rain drop, drop top
When you lay down on your side, cover your face with your arms and weep, you can hear the sound of your tears fall on the surface of the pillow and feel it, as it sinks deeper still. It sounds like a faint, distant explosion. Only the explosion wasn't miles away but in your own little, wrinkled heart.
-Somya
0 notes
Text
Stop it, Kafka
11th October,2019
I lay on my heavy mattress thinking about a world without a shadow of myself. The air charged with the pheromones screaming stress.
I sense something moving from under my table. Waking up from my trance, I yell, A CAT! I switch on the flash of my phone and peek under the bed. There it is, the ebony cat camouflaging in the darkness. Its eyes yellow and glowing. We make eye contact and for a brief moment, I freeze. I open the door towards the balcony, come around and peek under my bed, only to realize that it was gone. How long had it been in my room, spying so, on my thoughts?
Perhaps the cat, unlike the lizard on the hallway wall, the rabbits on my shorts and the cockroach in the toilet wasn't there by chance, but an uninvited guest of my own death splattered train of thoughts. The disruption caused by its movement, a signal to perhaps catch a different train. Its escape, a restoration of peace.
But Oh Kitty, I know no peace. Let me pet you the next time you're here.
-Somya
#catundermybed#streamofconciousness#blackcat#franzkafka#metamorphosis#lizard#cockroach#prose#writers on tumblr
1 note
·
View note
Text
Time and Again
14th May,2019
I feel a disconnect with the outside world- definitely this feeling is not new. Hundreds of people have experienced it before me and hundreds will feel the same dread after me. I feel an eerie disinterest in every other thing; a shortness of attention span. Certainly I'm not losing my mind.
I yawn. I sleep, perchance I dream.
Dream- a temporary world of make believe. Transition from which reemphasizes the seeming reality of the waking world. The reality which is a combined effort of creation of a barmecidal amount of people. These paper people are constantly, clinically and obsessively manufacturing reality- through images, situations- making calculations, measuring frequencies, calling the passage of occurences Time.
We are so integrated in this system that uttering the word 'time' instinctively brings to mind the mechanical tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock from the Kingdom of Chronology.
Not that I mind it. Like other things, I live with it.
-Somya
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Question: Does writing snowball the thoughts in your mind, thus making it real, or does it cure you?
1 note
·
View note
Text
Pretty sure my soul is made up of broken bits of flower vases sinfully mended together with guilty pleasures.
-Somya
0 notes
Text
I share my bed with books I don't understand.
-Somya
0 notes
Text
Ever wrote a poem for somebody and watched the poem slowly outgrow its subject?
-Somya
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Excerpt from the mountains.
0 notes
Text
//Every few days she brought Jasmine flowers from the temple//
The smell of Arabian jasmine always triggers up images of my grandmother-
Of the numerous bedtime stories she concocted up- a melange of the didactic tales from books and magazines, aided by a flavour of her delicious experiences from the years gone by.
My sleepish younger self repeated a fading 'hmmm' every few sentences into the stories, drowsily answering in a quasi-affirmative everytime she alerted 'Are you up?'
Little did I know, one day she would become this story; a photographic memory. An echo of the words she so skillfully weaved and ashes in the profane Ganges.
-Somya
#my writing#poetry#spilled thoughts#my grandmother#musings#storytelling#memories#fragments of my mind#fragrance#jasmine
0 notes
Text
I might be wrong but maybe Gertrude just didn't know how to swim.
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Girls that always have something weird to say are sexy
106K notes
·
View notes
Text
He's not mine, nor yours
[04/06/18 12:13 a.m.]
Myths meet the palpable in his soul, so exquisite!
He's a handiwork of the angels of the night sky.
An eternal lover of the moon whose ambrosial light radiates from his face, breathtakingly sublime.
He belongs to the very sky he so blithely admires.
I smile as this I write.
His raspy voice, an acoustic delight.
A charm matchless, forthright.
Tara of the cosmos,
He's not mine, or yours.
-Somya
#poets on tumblr#a temporary affair#experts from a book i'll never write#boys you just write about#starsstuck#rhyme#my writing#musings#love poem#spilled words#spilled thoughts#spilled ink#prose poetry
0 notes
Photo
The charm of the psychotic.
75 notes
·
View notes