Daydream (Dream Diary)

First published in the zine - The Dreamer Issue by Local Colour Zine

Download the Zine here.

What if you want to leave?

Fade to black in fantasy.

Don’t want to be found.

Don’t want to be seen.

Simply cut off from reality.

You take a leap!

Into the recesses of your mind,

You leap.

Not knowing whether you will land

Or if you will live.

Just a deep voice inside you,

Saying, “Don’t think, just leap”.

So driven by this urge

I dig my bare feet into the ground,

Raise my arms to the black sky,

Close my eyes so I can see,

Take one last breath,

And leap.

With my heart weighing me down

Like a sinking ship,

I leap.

And just as I do

I feel my spine tingle,

My legs go numb,

And I can hear my soul quiver.

It feels like I am nearing the end

So in a desperate attempt

I struggle and look up,

Hoping to see the moon one last time,

And I do.

In that pitch black,

I can see only the moon.

We lock eyes just for a moment,

A moment that feels like a lifetime,

And that is when it hits me,

The wind!

It captures me,

And raises me;

Higher than higher can be,

And slowly I begin to float.

Slowly I begin to dance.

Slowly I begin to soar,

And slowly I feel it cleansing my soul.

I feel the weariness wash out of me

Like a wave of soothing tranquillity.

The sound of it’s crashing waves

Echo through infinity.

I can see the stars again!

Each one luminous with the spark of a memory

Burning bright

With infinite shades of passion and peace.

I rise from the shimmering stars

And find myself standing before my soul

In all its breathtaking splendour.

An infinite spectrum of colours

Dancing behind.

A wondrous beauty

Beyond description.

I know at this moment

My mind will never be the same again.

I can’t possibly continue existence

Within reality the same way.

Not after conceiving this abstract concept

Of my soul.

And just then

The restrictive echo of reality returned

With the dull and numbing visage

And it’s cold concrete eyes

Steal colours from my mind.

A shriek!

A sudden blinding flash!

I am back in the fucking grind!

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I started writing ‘Dream Diary’ when I was about 16. For as long as I can remember, I’ve suffered from insomnia, but whenever I did manage to get some sleep, I almost always had really vivid and lucid dreams. Some were fantastical, some were surreal, some were recurring, and some were downright morbid and terrifying, but they were always fascinating. So one day, I started jotting them down, for the fear I might forget them, even though some would be best forgotten. Last year, more than a decade later, I decided to compile them all in this series - of poems, proses and stories, drawn from the memories of these fascinating and mysterious dreams that have haunted me, inspired me, comforted me and always left me intrigued, obsessed and compelled to further explore the strange and bizarre world of dreams.

Illustration by Saloni Singh

Published by LocalColourZine

Come, Sing Along

As I stand here

In this crowd of strangers

I hear a familiar song.

One that strikes a chord

Deep down in my soul.

Songs of menacing righting’s of wrongs,

Blood on the street,

Breaking of bones,

Innocent lives dusted once gone,

Of courage and resilience,

And stories untold,

Of injustice and oppression,

And the lies broadcasted and sold.

Hear their bells,

Hear their gongs,

Hear the beating drums!

Listen to the song!

Strangers singing together,

Singing a familiar song,

Standing together,

Together as ‘one’!

Do you hear their song?

Does it strike a chord?

Deep down in your heart?

It is the song of rebellion.

So come,

Come sing along!

Featured in the Zine - ‘Resilience’, November 2020 issue by the Rights Collective, together with guest editors South Asian Sisters Speak (SASS), featuring brown womxn of south Asian descent. Read the Zine here.

Here is a playlist - Resilience curated by each of the featured writers in the Zine .

I am colour

Part of a series combining spoken word with images. 'I Am Colour', uses colours as metaphors, as thoughts, as emotions, and at times a mere device to tread through memory, in order to paint the shades of different thoughts, emotions and journeys through words in poetry.

The visual compositions have been created out of paint, oil and soap liquid. Captured on Canon550D.

Captured by Asawari Jagushte

Poetry & SFX by Varsha Panikar

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I am colour

The colours of intimacy

Much to explore

Gentleness and broken glass

Sweet touch

Raw sensation

We are a colour

That hasn't been discovered

Never seen by the universe

But we exist

And we shine!

The world is a colour

Without any shade.

The people, a canvas

Whose souls never fade

My mind is a brush

That paints where I go

That paints what I see

And paints what I know

Billions of people

All painting their thoughts

From the oldest of them

To the littlest of tots

Each person's soul

An original piece

That joins the collective

When their body shall cease

Their beauty overflowing

For all who will see

The beauty of you

And the beauty of me

Some people dream in colour,

Others in black and white,

My dreams leave clues in crystal hues,

Too prismatic for the eye.

Children find the colour wheel.

They always say just what they feel.

Colour the canvas from white to whatever.

The colours you use are yours forever.

The colours you favour

Are droplets in time: a minute, an hour, an endless design...

The painting is finished at our last breath.

Gone is everything you've ever said...

Coffee and muffins.

Smells that colour my imagination.

Vividly,

Tenderly.

The sweet taste of colours.

How can we taste

The colours of the rainbow?

One may say skittles,

Or rainbow icecream.​

Every colour has a smell.

Each colour its own flavor.

What is your colour?

Your smell?

Green, mint, vanilla, white, eggnog,

Tan, cocoa, brown, strawberry, pink, rasberry

Magenta, mango, orange?

What are you made of?

Hot fudge sundae, rocky mountain, banana nut?

What makes you, well, you?

Trigger Warning: Mention of Suicide

Her favorite colour was blue

She was forever surrounded by its hue

In her eyes you can see the internal feud

But talking about it is was something she could never do

So blue took over her life

No one saw the weight of its strife

How it cut its way into her spirit like a knife

How its destructive force ran rife

She fell further down coz’ of her fears

Could fill an ocean with her tears

This went on for years

But she kept it all inside where no one could hear

Her favorite colour was blue

And it's quite tragic too

That no one ever saw the clues

Until her favorite knot became a noose

If I were able to look at myself with my own eyes, I would see nothing resembling what I let you see. Perhaps, I would see thoughts - raw, bleeding, black thoughts. Restless words, memories, ideas, colours. Colours that would bleed together as water colours on cheap paper. Colours upon colours, upon colours, upon colours.

R. I. P.

The moment the paper tears, the cut... too deep, the smile drops, almost before you hear the drip drop stop. Is my time running out?

I suppose that’s how time works.

What if our emotional scars were visible?

What if they could be seen as they formed?

What would happen?

Would people be more cautious?

Could it make a difference?

What if

Our moods could be seen as colors?

What if

People could see the damage they cause?

What if

Our thoughts could be seen as dark and light?

I wonder

What color would be seen most often?

Colour is always so much fun

White light split from the loving sun

The dark of night

Is where we run

When we hide

From what we may become.

It doesn't matter the spectrum

Or how the prism lies

The multitude of colours

You see them all at one time

It doesn't matter the connection

Or how it's been tied

It doesn't matter the infection

Or how it's stabalised

There's no matter in the prism

Just the refracting light

When you see all the colours

You see them at one time

All that I am adds to my colours,

My power to fully be.

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