tales of the yellow sky | writing and such

is the taste of the sky the color of ash?

perhaps, could it be the feeling of sitting in a tub of water after a long day, leaning your head back against the wall, lathering the shampoo into your hair? the feeling of washing off grime from the soles of your feet after a long walk with your mother, the feeling of your feet pressing on a bike’s pedals deep into the night, aching (but in a good way), the feeling of ignoring the baby pink journal that sits on your desk reminding you that you have one, two, three things left to do for the day, the feeling of a sky yellower than one could imagine, burrowing away deep inside of one’s soul.

one might say it’s all of these. another might say it’s none of these.

what would i say, you ask? well, i’m so glad you asked.

i would say that one night it could be one of these, and the next night it could be another of these. and last night it was something completely different.

and so it goes on. the sky tastes like amber and lavender, i would tell you. and sometimes it’s roses and sunflowers, too. but right now, the sky is like burnt caramel left on the stove too long. it’s the feeling you get when it’s too dark outside to feel at ease but too early for it to be an excuse. the sky right now does taste like ash.

quite literally, i mean.

you would say it tastes like ash because it has a soft glow, like the last embers of a fireplace flew far away and settled down outside, nestled into the snowy. or because it’s thick on your tongue, like the word you needed yesterday that was almost there- but not quite. you only remembered it today, and you cursed your damn self for forgetting it. oh! you thought, that was the word.

you would say it tastes like ash because of all the ways you think it does. i would tell you that no, it doesn’t taste like ash because of the fireplace and caramel and thick tongues and whatever antics you’re coming up with. it tastes like ash because it tastes like ash. it really does.

i mean, the sky is practically burning. it’s orange and lit on fire, casting a dusky glow (flame?) onto me and you and us all. it’s not actually on fire- not yet, at least- but it is a hundred miles up north, and it is a few hundred down south.

i sit at my desk tapping away at a hulk of metal with some wires in it, the window open and the lights off (it’s two PM on a summer afternoon, i say- why would i need the lights?). the ash rains down in small, soft layers. like it’s a cottony flower, a dandelion, drifting down as a gift from the heavens, settling down on my desk like a thin layer of syrup left out for the hummingbirds.

only, it’s ash. not syrup or sugar or caramel or amber. it’s ash, and there’s ash raining from the sky, aditi and there’s nothing we can do about it because what would we do? try and battle the ash, spear versus empty space?

so we do what we only know- we sweep up the ash off of my table and off of the walls of our house from the outside (“it could come inside, too- close the windows!”) and watch with the rest of the world to see if it’s the end of the world or not.

we do what everyone else does. sleep (or try to, at least), wake up, eat, go for a walk (“no! you’ll get sick!” “nonsense, they always say that. i’m fine.”), and log into school, listening to our teachers tell us how the sky is yellow. then we pull out our phones and see the pictures of an orange sky a couple dozen miles away. are they trying to one-up us?, we joke. but we’re helpless and there’s nothing we can do about it other than wait.

we’ve already waited. we waited two weeks ago and two weeks later, when they told us we were breathing in the ash and it was settling into our lungs, making itself at home, and we should be ready to leave everything we know in the blink of a moment. we waited now and tomorrow when the ash dusts our home like a thin layer of snow. toxic snow.

and we’ll keep waiting, in the dark, looking at the yellow sky, while messages and news and stories and anecdotes and pictures pour into the rest of the world.

what’s going on over there? they ask. oh, they’re burning, someone replies nonchalantly.

WE are burning! you reply indignantly. the city i grew up in is bathed in orange glow! you cry out.

but it’s all the same to them, and if that small difference means the world to you, it doesn’t mean anything to them.

so we go on, thinking this is normal, and no one tells us anything different. we go on thinking there’s nothing we can do about it, and so does everyone else.

but! someone says, and you hear a tiny voice somewhere far out. help us. the voice whispers. you have a voice. i do not. the person speaks for thousands more, a chorus of voices that grows in numbers to tens and hundreds of thousands.

you have a voice. i do not.

If you can, please donate to any one of the links here which are donation links for the fires based in California. Wildfire relief fund. CA natural disaster response. Individual family GoFundMe pages. Commemorating fallen firefighters and their communities. Incident updates (over 1.2 million acres have burned).

like dominoes we fall // prose

tell me if i’m wrong, but we used to be close- 

tell me if i’m wrong, but i loved you to the end of the plains.

i know i’m right, but now you make me doubt myself.

this could be a love letter, but it isn’t, baby.

but your smile lit up my face and your words lit a spark inside me

somehow the profoundness attracted me, and somehow it stuck me like glue

but maybe the glue dried up, cause now something’s different, something i can’t quite put my foot on

girl, tell me something i don’t know: we both know it’s true- we both know this friendship is mostly one-sided.

and yeah, there’s nothing i can do about it as much as i wish you would save me from this spiral of maze running frantic.

but before you leave me at the edge of this tumultuous cliff, ready to fall, you should know something too.

my distance from you isn’t it, lovely. really.

only a stone’s throw, but it makes all the difference.

i know you want to hold on to the unchangeable, but i’m ready to move on.

so before you go, here’s a goodbye from my heart. and if we can’t make it back to each other, well, i’ll remember you.

and twenty years from now, when we both have separate lives, i’ll think back to these days when we grew like vines, paths separating-

maybe it’s not meant to be, love. you’re the beauty i need to leave.

we’re like dominoes- you gave it the first push, and i toppled some more.

now we’re teetering on the edge of the end, and i don’t know whether to steady it with shaking hands or to give it the gentle push and end it

it’s eventually gonna topple one way or the other. might as well save a heartbreak and slow end for us both, love.

but i can tell you one thing-

i promise to remember you; the one who opened my eyes.


June Poems

a whisper and a little brush of the wind, right by my neck

the sway of the leaves and the howling of the night wolves

buried under huge layers of heavy flannels,

even though we know it’s all just a dream

I saw that flicker of that bright burning candle,

a bit of hope in a bleak universe

so since I now know how beautiful life can be

I might just capture that candle and keep it as my own

because as the crow flies high above the skies

I wait patiently for another candle to shine

Continue reading “June Poems”

Mother’s Day Tribute

amma, mathair, ibu, moeder, ana, motina, or even just mother~

There’s so many ways to address your mother, but they all mean the same thing. A loving, caring woman in your life who’s taken care of you and loves you to the end of all the universes. For me, my mother means so much. I love her immensely, even during the times when she yells at me or scolds me because I know that everything she does is for my benefit.

So dear Amma, here’s something for you:

Continue reading “Mother’s Day Tribute”

Poems + Worms Matter!

yassou! (hi in Greek)

Y’all… I’m definitely trying to post more often. I want to build my blogosphere and it’s gonna be quite the ride! Today I have a short collection of poems inspired by the nature around my home city- green, rainy, and even the occasional snow(!). Also, I have a dear story about saving an animal at school.

Path of Colors

Blue and green is to be seen

around the way through the journey

into the bushes, out the trees

slinking through the path as a fox.


Crying Heavens

Every drip, every drop-

Every tearlet falling from the sky

belongs to the heavens who cried.


Fighting as Rain

When all that is left is panic and pain,

one must turn to the droplets of rain

that fall without worry, never halting.

Be the ones who keep calm, be the change.

Be the difference we’ve all been waiting for.


The last one was because of an experience that I had recently. It seriously rattled me, and I thought that the rain is a beautiful way to capture the essence of calm. When it’s just one of those blue days with rain pouring down, I admire and adore the rain. The rain gives you a reason to turn away from all your problems and watch it fall. It’s just incredible. Nature is incredible!

Today during lunch, my friends and I were just eating, minding our own business, laadeeda, when we spotted a tiny thing crawling on the concrete, inching (more like millimeter-ing) its way to the grass that was but a couple of inches away. Immediately two of my friends (let’s call them M and V) and I were concerned and started hatching plans to help the earthworm.

We tried to put a leaf near the worm (whom we eventually named Squiggly. Don’t ask, it was M’s idea. She’s… something else.) It didn’t work, plus my hands were shaking. Hey, I was holding a lunch box in one hand and a leaf in another! V offered to help and while I was putting my lunch away, M ran to get one of those cutlery packs from the cafeteria. Ya know, those ones that come in a plastic cover with a straw, spork, and napkin?

Anyway, V wanted to use the spork to pick up Squiggly, so we tried…. It didn’t work. Squiggly kept falling off, so we had to try something else:

Que the maniacal thinking and musing!

We gave using the straw, M’s idea, a go: Squiggly curled his/her little body around it and we watched in anticipation, hoping that he/she would do it! It took a couple of tries, but Squiggly managed to wrap its body around and we gently moved it to the grass. It worked!!! We were all so happy even though all we did was move a teeny worm- but that’s because we understood that all lives are valuable, and a couple of minutes is definitely worth a life.

Thanks, guys, if you managed to struggle through this post! I have a beloved quote here, marking the end of February and Black History Month:

No person has the right to rain on your dreams. -MLK Jr.

And bye!


(I have a new send off now!)