My eyelids became heavy
trudging through the memories
holding the weight of the days
when my eyes could see
the subdued moon and stars
but neither your crescent smile
nor the twinkle of your eyes
I should have taken the bus
but there was no place to go
there was no one waiting to see.
Clouds burst from the heaviness
and in drowned all the words
I put on the back of the ticket
in a hope to tell you how much
my eyes yearn to see you
and yet they see you everywhere I go
I should have sent you the letter
but there was no address
there was no one waiting to read.
The Starry Night is an oil on canvas by the Dutch post-impressionist painter Vincent van Gogh. Painted in June, 1889.
You are sitting by the window
staring at the moon that,
sometimes appears as a drunken man with sorrows,
and sometimes as a sober thinker with drunken thoughts.
The lights in the room are off,
and the only light that embraces everything
inside you and inside the room is the moonlight.
The moonlight enters through the windowpane,
that has been broken for a reason,
that you no longer remember.
The light falls on the floor, filling the gaps
between the two tiles, caused by
weariness of your footsteps and time.
You make circles with your left foot,
and it feels like you are dipping your jiggered foot
in the water, healing you as it slowly enters through cracks
in the water, that has been kissed by the moonlight.
You focus back on the moon and you observe that,
some portion of it is veiled by the clouds,
and you wonder if clouds are jealous of how
you stare at the moon with longing and with love.
Your eyes are set on the sight as the clouds continue to
swirl around the moon and later leaving it all alone.
You no longer hear the tick-tick of the clock,
as you listen to the song of the starry night in its silence,
and even though they say that nights are meant to sleep,
you only want to behold the moon,
for you believe that, this night isn’t the one that
brings you the thoughts of your fiddly life and worries,
but helps you to break your skin into a smile.
You stretch your right arm and make a U
with your thumb and forefinger to hold the moon,
and it fits perfectly in the space even from a distance,
but you realize that you cannot hold it forever and,
you break the U, knowing that,
you can still feel its warmth even if you cannot hold.
The writer in you tells you to pick up your pen and diary,
to write down a poem on how beautiful the moon is,
on how painful it is to know that,
you can have it only from a distance;
But you continue to be enamoured of
the moon and the starry night thinking,
that sometimes some poetries should
not penned down on a paper, but they must be
written in the reflection of the sight in your eyes,
for they stay there forever; untouched and undestroyed.
As the loudness of silence increases,
the night gets more still,
and in that stillness you are awake,
and all your fears sleep.
You feel at peace and this night
you do not wish to dream,
as you aren’t sure if your dream could be as
beautiful as the night sky and,
as calming as the moon.
While your eyes are fixed on the moon,
the lullaby by the moon puts you to sleep.
Your eyes closed, and your mouth half opened,
and the lover in you enters your dream, this night too,
telling you that the moon you have been taking a shine to
was familiar to the one you love.
The moon continued to shine in the darkness,
and the stars pinned to its beauty,
while another night sings in your dream, where
the lover in you reads the poetry,
the one that was written in your eyes,
with soft pauses and hard truths etched into it.
-Kritika Vashist
(Now think of the moon as the one someone loves, read the poem again; a story of a lost love and that someone.)
Even after all this time
Waiting for your return
Looking back and knowing
How far I have come
Counting the days, the minutes
Writing the songs of longing
You say that it is just a dream
I’ll say,
I don’t mind keeping
My eyes closed forever.
The rule: Add a phrase to the one given to complete the story. This is not a challenge. It is more like a game where a phrase is given and you complete it with the first thought that enters your mind. Anyone who finds it interesting and worth sharing can continue with the phrase by checking his post.
Today’s phrase given by Himanshu is : “He fell back in his chair….”
Amid the noises from their mouths The voice of their hearts got lost And when every word breathed its last The Silence spoke it all And the eyes heard them all.
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep. ”
― Pablo Neruda
Day 2- Quote 2
This is in response to the Quote Challenge for which I was nominated by these wonderful fellow bloggers; Ashish, Darshith, HSampson, Asil and Akiraa.
I know that the challenge says to post a quote, but I can break the rule for the beauty of the words. In this challenge, I would not have forgotten Pablo Neruda. There are quotes taken from this Sonnet, but there is no verse that I can miss while reading this. Yet another favorite quote. Re-read it and enjoy goosebumps!
Flower of love (The Photo was taken at Mughal Garden, Delhi, India)
Deeply rooted in the heart,
drawing up the love,
rushing passionately in each vein.
The sweet fragrance,
permeating the,
fathomless depth of the skin.
The flower of love,
breathing in the
sunlight in your eyes.
He looked into her eyes meticulously and told her that her eyes were like an ocean: deep, dark and infinite. He saw his reflection in her eyes as himself drowning in that ocean.
She smiled while closely looking at the mirror and marveled at the details he had given about her beautiful eyes.
She still looks at the mirror and tries to see her reflection. She doesn’t smile and the eyes cry as all that she can see is darkness.
The lover of the ocean did not like to drown.
Day 2- Quote 2
From the Soul to the nib of the Pen 