Tears down the face making way to his dry lips.
The choked voice trying to call her back.
Breath stopped; love unceased.
Beatific creases unfolding permanently.
Eyes abandoning every dream without her.
Broken heart; memories etched.
The death holding her, uncompromisingly.
The life leaving him, concomitantly.
Hands separated; souls coupled.
-Kritika Vashist
She pulled back the dull colored curtains and looked outside the window. The street was empty and the dim glow of the light covered it like lusterless black hair. There were things to notice, but only if she has dared to move out from borders and horizon lines. In silence she had failed to shut the noises speaking loud inside her and keeping empty beds elsewhere.
She turned around and looked herself at the fading mirror. The one that showed real her, with no twinkling in her eyes as it appeared to some. Nothing here is what it seems, she thought as she gazed at herself. She leaned slightly towards the mirror and touched her skin that had become pale and flowered lips that had dried. How the death of the only man who loved her, the only man she loved, left her half awake and almost dead.
She touched her reflection and contemplated her body in the mirror.
“Could we try to reinvent?” she heard a voice coming from her reflection.
Maybe it was time to answer the soul’s knock and to listen to her inner wisdom.
“I’ve been climbing up the wall with you,” she cried as the air of melancholy rushed through the window.
“There’s an animal inside. There’s a fear that won’t subside, of all the things I’ll never do. Will I ever follow through?” She continued her cry.
Death separates bodies not love. And love gives strength to overcome any fear; strength to dream and to rebuild ourselves. The reflection conveyed to her about the strength of love.
“Feed the head with common sense. Leave this place behind, in silence. And the weight we find inside us.
Lead me to the edge of night.
Till the dawn,
The end of time,
Till the fire blazing light,
Shines again within our eyes,” the reflection sang to her as the wind inside the room played the music.
She had perceived the truth. She became conscious of the fact that pain subsides when love breathes around.
We’re yet to bleed.
We’re yet to dream.
All the time and energy,” and the voice vanished into the thin air, and the reflection had that shine in the eyes.
“Heart like ours is impossible to separate and so does our love”, she spoke in a whisper.
-Kritika Vashist
(Song by The Naked and Famous, Heart like ours)
You may read on Comfortably numb, Stairway to heaven and don’t write me off just yet, here : https://krivashist.wordpress.com/category/my-story-your-song/
“I might take some more time to get ready, so for you I’ll leave the door open,” the messaged popped on his screen when he was just 2 minutes away from her place. Unlike what a guy would bring on his girl’s birthday, he just had a book and a painting which he didn’t bother to gift wrap.
“Hello? Hello? Hello? …is there anybody in there?,” he started to sing while he entered the house. When no voice was heard from the other side, he thought she was playing her favorite, hide and seek game. To see her, he entered her room and continued with the song, “Well I can ease the pain. Get you on your feet agg….”. He couldn’t complete the word after what he saw. He never sang that song ever again. Maybe, he regretted for choosing that song. The words in the song were now meaningless. Every pain, her every dream, all the sickness, all her love she had within herself, and the wait for being loved the way she deserved, everything had gone. She knew about her dangerously false hope, and she knew that complaining to him was more dangerous. Her lips didn’t move, yet, she had spoken everything for the final time.
Her body was still on the floor, which had become red because of the blood. She was in her favorite full length red colored dress. She was all jeweled up. To his surprise, she left nothing behind, not even a letter, not a last word. However, she was holding the rose he had given her 16 months ago. The rose still had its leaves, all its petals as they were before. The rose just had become old, the petals were wrinkled, yet it looked beautiful in her hands.
He never wanted her to wait for him or anything related to him, and that’s what he used to tell her whenever she waited for him, for his love. Maybe she had waited for too long, for him, for his surprise. He wanted her to speak something, anything. But he had told her to not complain, and she didn’t, even before her last breath.
He vociferated. He laughed out loud outside, he cried bad inside. He held her closely and kissed her. Seeing her resting on the floor, he knew that now she had become comfortably numb.
– Kritika Vashist
(Song by Pink Floyd, Comfortably Numb)
From the Soul to the nib of the Pen 