Enamored by its bewitching sight
and a pinch of his own melancholy,
the poet weights off every night
to veil himself with another poem
howling between the spaces,
But the moon never apologies
for all the nights it goes missing;
the moon never appreciates
his presence on all the nights.
– Kritika Vashist
Sometimes I wonder what if I have walked the road everyone thought was the only way to reach a place that seemed almost same in everyone’s eyes and gave almost the same perspective. Would life have been less difficult?Would I have been less troubled? Would the journey have been easy?
Sometimes I wonder what if I have chosen the conventional way to live a life, feeling alive despite being reticent about everything around. Would there have been someone to walk with, someone who could imbue the emptiness on the street…someone who could fill the silence between the imaginary walls? Would I have taken another turn in anticipation?
I don’t know where the road that I chose will lead me to. Will it be the mountains that I ever wanted to touch, or an ocean I always wanted to swim in, or nowhere. But I’m sure that the road I didn’t choose would have taken me to an insipid place, where they all go, losing themselves through a vile journey, and I’m sure that’s not where I ever wanted to be and ever want to be.
– Kritika Vashist
