Fingers that perfectly fitted in yours once
Crawls over the bedsheet
embracing the love that we shared.
Lips that had tasted you once
dries while I look at the roof
that stared us while we had each other, completely.
The cold feet that had received your warmth once
do not move a bit now,
As I find you far away.
The mind says : He is a distant one
The heart whispers : The distance is always less than his love.

– Kritika Vashist


छुप छुप के…

छुप छुप के जो तरसाया था
देखा होगा रात का चाँद तुमने।

जान कर अनजान जो बने थे,
सीखा होगा नज़रे चुराना तुमने।

छोड़ कर हाथ जो कभी थामा था,
दिया होगा फिर किसी और को उधार तुमने।

-कृतिका वशिष्ठ

Who says love is beautiful? (3)

He would jump, he would fly, he would roll on the floor, he would laugh hard, and he would dance like a madman, yet so passionately. His cheeks would go pink, his smile would widen, and his nose would look like a cherry. People who came to see him thought that, that is how he looked every day, and that is how he would look, forever. The girl who would take the seat closest to the stage thought the same. The girl wasn’t wrong. He would fly, jump, dance, laugh, smile and sing even when he wasn’t performing. He would fly in love, he would sing in love and he would dance in love. He would wait to see her on weekends, in love.

The girl loved to see him, for whatever he did filled her heart with joy. He loved her. His heart felt the joy of being in love.

He held her hand one day to confess the seeding love for her. She shook it off, glanced away and said, “Your hands are just meant to hold juggling balls”.

Who says love is beautiful?
– Kritika Vashist

Who says love is beautiful? (2)

Poets write poems, singers sing, dancers dance, painters paint, to express their grief, disappointment, sadness and regrets, and they then pass it on to the world. World reads it and appreciate.
She appreciated them, too. She was kind to share their sadness by being its reader and an admirer.
He loved her unconditionally. He loved her in her anger. He loved her in her weirdness. He danced, he sang and he wrote in pain to her about his melancholy, but the beloved refused to acknowledge. She wasn’t kind enough to share his sadness by being a listener.
Now he cries inside, but still narrates her as a kind soul in all his poems, paintings and unsung songs.

Who says love is beautiful?

-Kritika Vashist

Who says love is beautiful? (1)


He looked into her eyes meticulously and told her that her eyes were like an ocean: deep, dark and infinite. He saw his reflection in her eyes as himself drowning in that ocean.
She smiled while closely looking at the mirror and marveled at the details he had given about her beautiful eyes.
She still looks at the mirror and tries to see her reflection. She doesn’t smile and the eyes cry as all that she can see is darkness.
The lover of the ocean did not like to drown.

Who says love is beautiful?

-Kritika Vashist

When I Messed with Love

I believed those scented words,
words that were not considerate,
words that had noxious fumes,
I had inhaled,
when I messed with love.

I let myself sink into a betrayer,
betrayer who snubbed my love,
betrayer who injured my soul,
I had shielded,
when I messed with love.

I found pain enclosing my nights,
nights with drunken thoughts,
nights with old-new memories,
I had with him,
when I messed with love.

I lost everything,
yet, nothing,
when I messed with love.

-Kritika Vashist

Before I Sleep Tonight


I’ll learn about all the possibilities of feeling euphoric without you, before I sleep tonight.

I’ll discover myself through perpetual scars on my body, that your storm gave to me, before I sleep tonight.

I’ll promise to give myself all the happiness I deserve, that got lost while I tried to give endless to you, before I sleep tonight.

I’ll wear a smile while I look at my perfectly kohl-ed eyes in the mirror, that earlier looked like a black brook, before I sleep tonight.

I’ll learn to give myself a chance to live with mistakes I do, the same mistakes that everyone does and yet complaints, before I sleep tonight.

I’ll love myself for being who I am, the same person you had once loved and the one now you hate, before I sleep tonight.

I’ll realize the fact that no one loves you truly unless they accept you with your flaws, anger, imperfections and weirdness, before I sleep tonight.

-Kritika Vashist

Tea and You


The last time I had tea with you,
the last time I tasted it on your lips.
I remember how real it tasted.
I do remember,
how a finite drop felt infinite.
And how I had wish,
to have it with you,
in rains, in winters,
under the sun, under the stars,
then and forever.

I was your cup of tea,
as you were mine.

But now all I have is;
a broken heart,
two broken cups,
and many broken promises.

And all I wish is
a distaste for tea.

– Kritika Vashist

Sleepless Nights


The stars spread themselves
over the velvet night sky.
The moonlight penetrates
the darkest voids.
As the silence embarks
another sleepless night.

Through out the day
the clock ticks recklessly,
and the night appears
in a blink of an eye.
Perhaps, time loves night,
as the clock ticks like a ponderous animal.
Perhaps, nights are always heavy,
for they carry our thoughts
all our grief, all our sorrows
all broken dreams, all tomorrows.
Perhaps, nights listen patiently,
about the stories of our loneliness
of our lost love, and all secrets
of disappointment, and regrets.
Perhaps, nights are longer,
for they fight with the demon
that lives within us,
and the one only known to us.

And I wonder,
How the nights are silent,
and yet, speak the loudest.
How the nights are meant to sleep,
and yet, I am here at 1:20 am,
struggling with another sleepless night.

-Kritika Vashist