It Was Dark Again

It was dark again, outside and inside
I reached out for your hand, trembling
like a little girl who is just about to die
and you played your game of hiding
while I could trace your breaths in silence
and you told me you never found me
when I never hid behind specious curtains

I looked in your eyes and counted ways
you pushed me away saying there aren’t any
turning my solace into an impassable maze
and I still cried that I want you, in fear
but you turned away to close the window
shadowing the moonlight that torched my tear
making space for me to shake, guess, break
for your second opinions, but never to make

The walls I painted for you ached with pain
were they paintings or a meaningless stain?
the tired eyes warned of approaching sorrow
and love asked if there was one more day to borrow
my hands frayed from all the letters they wrote to you
shaking and wanting, only if you had written a few
but it was dark again
and you couldn’t see what I had to bear
but it was dark again
I wonder why you never tried to hear

Every time after I left and before I entered in
I realized how you cleaned debris of the truth
but couldn’t understand how some still stuck my skin
every night before I slept, every day before I was awake
you disappeared into the darkness without saying a word
except that I should drop it all, you have no time to take
but it was dark again, darling
between the time my eyes opened and closed
and I could see the truth clear and stark
it was all in the dark and the darkness exposed
and it was dark again
I was stupid enough to instill your love
to forgive you, to love you with tattered hopes
and you were fool enough to think
I am not familiar with how darkness envelopes.

-Kritika Vashist

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A Box

It’s important to have a box
with a lock to safely store
all things that now have
turned into mere memories
like a broken tube light, barely flickering.

A box to mould our vulnerabilities
into unsympathetic stare
at the old worn out things,
lying unperturbed.

A box to relocate all our heaviness,
making space for new,
but never the same,
so that we don’t have to carry
them on our chest, throughout.

A box to dust down after years,
to realize that
what we have of ourselves now
is more than what was once taken away.

-Kritika Vashist

Inside You

Tonight, let the moon stay quiet
And I, let it not cast its shadow
Over my thoughts and questions.

(Turn around,
Look at yourself.)

In the silence of the room
Filled with my solitude
Let I, hear the voices
That comes from my mind
Let I, pay attention to
The calling of my heart 
And look at my hands,
That searched for answers outside
And close my eyes,
That saw only outwards
Because you find answers only
Where the questions come from.

The answers lie within me
Where the questions arise
Because it’s always inside you
Who you are,
Want you want,
And how it will be.

In the end,
It all will be quiet
It all will be fine.

– Kritika Vashist

Not Letting It Go

People have often unknowingly and knowingly
held the hand of the one they loved
when they told them that they will let it go
and made them deluge without asking
along with themselves
by their own heaviness they could never shrug off
and never letting the other to dust it down
thinking that it is what they are supposed to carry
when all they decided was to dive together in the ocean
holding hands, firmly accepting each other
to fill in an adventure within
to search the unexposed
to unveil the vulnerability
and to share a breath

-Kritika Vashist