The Events 

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You saw it from a distance
I smelled it around

You took a step
I saw it coming towards
Towards,
A bit of you
A lot of me

The sky wore an unusual cloth that day
You saw it dying
I saw a shadow on it

You threw it away
I took it with me.

– Kritika Vashist

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Raindrops

The light in the room was dim before he entered and drew the curtains. The weather outside seemed pleasant. 

He sat adjacent to me, picked up his diary lying on the table, and pulled out the pen tucked in my hair bun. The curtains were blowing by the wind outside. Clouds were moving, some near to each other, some far away. 

I closed the book I was holding, and looked at his thoughts wandering around the corners of a page. A few raindrops fell on the window pane, to gently meander.

The rain had started to pour down few seconds later. Raindrops fell on the muddy ground, on leaves of the plant kept near the window, and a few tiny drops fell on the page of his diary. 

My eyes could no longer trace raindrops falling on the window pane. They fell on the surface and got merged. While a few on the leaves got pinned, the rest glided themselves down. 

The sound of quiet was broken by his “damn.” The raindrops that fell on the page were slowly merging into the warmth of his words. 

He closed his diary and I closed the window. 

– Kritika Vashist 

Unwritten 


I’vee left all important details

at the footnote of my half breath  

while all the little details cover my pen, 

that rests somewhere inside my diary,

like flowers of gratitude on a gravestone. 

But it’s in creases on the bedsheet 

that can take you to the story

some of which I lived,

and some I couldn’t.

– Kritika Vashist 

In The Woods 

In the woods,
I could see green trees,
and feel the embracing wind,
while hearing the music of our footsteps
as we walked together, at the same pace,
holding our hands firmly,
like the leaf holding its branch.

I remember you telling me about spring
under those filtered bright sun-rays
in the sound of silence.
I remember feeling like a butterfly
on the most beautiful flower.

In the woods,
a season passed and autumn came.
I stood under the almost bare tree
when the unfiltered sunlight fringed me.
I remember you loosing the grip, walking fast,
crumbling the fallen leaves, abstractedly.
I remember feeling lost in that noise
on the trail leading me nowhere.

In the woods,
I waited for the spring you told me about,
but it never came.

-Kritika Vashist

 

After being away for so long, I realized that it requires a lot of dedication and efforts to maintain your blog and write something regularly. Also, during this time I lost track of a few friends here, but I hope the rest (I still see them here) are doing well. So, in case you remember me, here is a hello from my side. 🙂

The Fragrance

The wind was cold, the sun was shining

In the rear view I could see 

Wind blowing up the flowers 

And sunlight falling on them 

He held my hand

I was holding on to my dreams 

He said he wanted to smell those flowers 

I looked at him just like the flowers did and said,

“You should know that you can smell a flower’s fragrance without plucking it”. 
– Kritika Vashist