When You’ll Know

Artwork by Edward Munch

That late evening in the silence of slithering hues,
your goodbye echoed loud enough that the
gloomy clouds pulled their tears back.
I tried to control my quivering lips,
and the words inside convulsed one by one.
I wish I could tell you that the pain of separation
doesn’t disappear like a smoke in the air.
That it is like the air you push into your lungs
and the next second you puff some out.
I knew that you would understand only when
you’ll find yourself picking the pieces of me in your bedroom,
removing them from everything that I ever touched,
and then you would realize that it is hard to peel off
my imprints on you and to pull off the pieces of me in you;
when you’ll be watching some movie or reading a book
and thought of me would cloud the sight and
then you would try to shake them off your head;
when the air would rush into your ear and whisper my name
and you would cover your ears or act deaf;
for whirling in eddies of my thoughts wasn’t what you wanted;
when you’ll pour yourself a drink and with watery eyes
you’ll laugh remembering our weird stories that we once made,
and then you would wipe away your tears telling yourself that
reaching the shore of my memories wasn’t the reason for your drinking;
And finally when you’ll come home late at night
to lie down on the bed and to comfort yourself,
you’ll feel distress, your body will ache and you’ll feel the chill
in the air as the window would allow the eerie feeling to enter,
and you would fear that your dreams would turn into nightmares;
for you would realize that under your bed is my grave,
the one that do not hold my bones, and yet they hold everything of me,
in all those letters that I wrote to you, in all the painting and poetries,
all that you buried under the mattress, and all that dance every night,
everything of me and us that you couldn’t throw away or burn down
because somewhere between sorrow and felicity you still loved me.

-Kritika Vashist

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46 thoughts on “When You’ll Know

  1. this piece demonstrates common humanity or a oneness in that her voice is certain of his void, something possible only when one draws upon their own emotions… that is the essence of all compelling writing…
    ”when the air would rush into your ear and whisper my name”
    ”the one that do not hold my bones, and yet they hold everything of me” – really great lines.

    I appreciate reading that gives back and your writing certainly does that. I spent time reading, I got a wonderful feeling. Can’t ask for more than that. Good work gorgeous 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • This is one of the most wonderful comments that I’ve ever received for my poems.
      It means a lot when you say that ny writing gives you back and that you enjoyed reading.
      Thank you so very much. I’m humbled and encouraged. 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

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