And how doesn’t the shimmering light
in the darkness give you strength?
I know that you fear trembling, but isn’t life all about daring to take a step?
– Kritika Vashist
darkness
My First Time
50 Words Story
The dead silence in the room started to fade away with darkness’s long moans. His whispering sounds stirred with my racing heartbeats. His slow steps ordered the moonlight to enter through the cracked window and cleave our shadows. My first time with my ghost unfolded the meaning of beautiful melancholy.
– Kritika Vashist
The Darkest Night
The blue sky unveils itself
exposing its darkest layers
where I pin my sorrows
the reflection of which
flashes into the watery eyes
The quiet inter-flow of sweat
of the frozen skin with tears
warms up the numb emotions
The mind gets heavy while the
weight of my steps drop off
The wind howls in madness
only to peel off my skin, slowly
to let the melancholy assail me
while sorrows sways on the
morbid beats of the darkest night.
– Kritika Vashist
The Wolf
The wolf howled at the moon
The cries of madness
The silence of fears.
The songs of despondent.
Scared of the darkness
The wolf swallowed itself
before the darkness could
devour on his pyretic flesh.
-Kritika Vashist
(Melancholy is an inevitable phase. Let it just pass through words.)
Reborn
What was real blindness like? I wondered while lying down on the floor staring at the roof of the room whose only furniture was darkness. Is it in the inability to see the light? Or is it in the inability to see the facades they wear?
On further introspection, I realized that I never fathom out that behind a facade there is no light, so how can they ever think good for me? I wanted to know who I am, I wanted to see if my skin was still breathing or the darkness had occluded all the pores.
I ran my fingers along my face, and when my fingers reached the end of the forehead, it felt as a shore to the sea of black hair that had captured the whirlwind of realism, ready to sweep away the pseudo.
The window of the room howled in the darkness, and the glass cracked with the force of the wind that blew outside. I stood up with a slightly loosen hair bun and eagerness in my eyes to look outside the window.
The moonlight entered through the crack, and gave birth to my shadow, the part of me that got lost amidst the darkness.
The wind permeated the room, wiping out their villainous smell, and flew through my loosen bun, unfolding each strand full of power with its tenderness.
The moonlight seeped through my veins, bestirring the blood to flow smoothly with a hope.
The veil of blindness was peeled off by the songs of the wind, the dance of the moonlight, poetry of the stars and silence of the soul. The pores breathed again, and I was reborn.
– Kritika Vashist
(Painting my Madison Moore)
Curse
Do not enter the room
you believe has been
filled with fragrance
of happiness
of chasing each other’s
dreams and ambitions;
when all it has is
biting melancholy
lining the brittle walls,
countless nightmares
seeking my lunacy,
a failed purpose
to come out alive.
Do not twine your arms
around my neck
and stare into my eyes
to unfold the reasons
of the gloominess
veiling their soul;
for my burning tears
will flood you in
perpetual darkness,
my failures
will haunt you
in your lively dreams,
my disappointments
will rupture your faith
in yourself
in love
maybe, everything.
Do not lie down with me
on heavy and blue nights
to plant a kiss
of solace and wanting
unaware of
the venomous words
inked on my hands
designed in my mind
destroying the peace,
your night arrives with
and howling in your
silent heart.
I am a secret
unhealed
untouched.
Do not forget me
as someone
who is her own curse.
– Kritika Vashist
From the Soul to the nib of the Pen 