For a Friend

It is difficult to tell
of when and how
the fragrance of
flowers of our friendship
started to linger around
you and me, but
I am certain that
the garden of your love
has already dwelled
into my heart.

Not many words
were spoken
the last time I met you,
yet I remember how
every word was heard.

Again today if I drop
this pen and let these
words to wander
I know that you will
pick them up
where I left,
with your love.

Kritika Vashist


The Wait


You know how every night
the sea waits for the moon
to come and throw its
luminous light all over her?

The moonlight falls and
the waves glow mystically.
The sea waves would
complain about how long
she waited for him to come;
The moon would shimmer
letting her know how much
he missed her, making her
forget about all grumbles.
After all the glances and
exchanging smiles and blushes
the surrounding would get
filled with the aura of tranquility.
The surreal scene then
would do all the talking.

The friendship between
the sea and the moon is
wondrous and unparalleled
where, one lights up the other
and one shows the other
reflection of its true self.

Sometimes she would get jittery
if he doesn’t appear in time,
but the hope doesn’t vanish;
for she would always know
that he is just behind those
dark gloomy clouds
he struggles against
almost every evening.

The sea continues to wait
in anticipation for the moon
to come and ask her
if she missed him too,
and she would wave high
and say that yes she did
more with each cloud passing
and when the sky covered
itself in another different layer.

You know, chum?
That’s how I see us
and exactly how I wait
to see you every day.

– Kritika Vashist

May Not Be There Tomorrow

girl happy

You turn away your gaze
your pride
your ignorance
overshadowing what life offers you.
Stop and look back at the opportunity
for it may not be there tomorrow.

Your eyes get heavy
holding the tears
of unfulfilled love
occluding you to see
the beautiful person
standing besides you.
Wipe away that pain and
hug that kind soul
for they may not be there tomorrow.

You hide behind the wall
of misunderstandings
even though you could hear
voices of falling out.
Break down the wall
and hold their hand
for they may not be there tomorrow.

The disbelief in yourself
grows larger than your shadows
encumbering you to move
any further.
Do not step back
in uncertainty
for the chance may not be there tomorrow.

You look down
walk roughly in despair
while melancholy
tries to chop down your wings.
Look up, see the vast sky
and spread your wings to fly
for time may not be there tomorrow.

Love what you have got today
for it may not be there tomorrow.

Love the life you have been blessed with
for you may not be there tomorrow.

-Kritika Vashist

Will, You Be My Butterfly!

Will, you be my Butterfly!”

I don’t think there is any better way to start this than a pun, since this is dedicated to a person who is pun-ny, smart, sarcastic and extraordinarily incredible. No, I haven’t used too many adjectives considering beauty of his heart.

It’s been nearly three months, having heart-to-heart and funny conversations with him through comments on the posts. Never in my life had I thought that I’d feel connected to someone, here through a blog, sharing our daily musings. Perhaps, real connections, real blessings and real relationships happen without talking on phone for hours, or messaging daily. Sometimes reading someone’s scribbled words without even knowing how they look, how they speak, where they live, what they do, if they are poor or if they are rich, tells you more than you would have known about them. I bet that there are certain things that people here who follow us know better than people who are living with us. Funny, isn’t it?

Coming back to the man I was talking about, the one who has encouraged me unknowingly.
This man’s grammar is absolutely perfect. He doesn’t miss any punctuation!
He shares his favorite words, and then uses them more than twice in that post.
His comments would accidently rhyme, and he would say, “I could have been a poet, right? ;)” not realizing that many lines in his posts do rhyme and a paragraph sounds like a poem.

Let me ring up the curtain and reveal the name of this wonderful person.

William Leeone (Will), you have been a great comrade and a congenial company. You already know that I totally adore you. If WordPress is a garden and words are the flowers, then you are that butterfly who makes the sight of the flowers even more beautiful.

I had asked you about butterflies and you have said: “Butterflies are reminders that beauty and benevolence should both be said together!”
Now, do not wonder why I have called you a butterfly.

If a pun was a better way to start, then a poem for you would be perfect to summarize. Plus, conveying your feeling metaphorically is marvelous.

So, here it is.

“It crawls, twisting its torsos
to creep on flowers, on leaves.
It wobbles, trying to bring
itself in control.
It moves slowly, unsteadily
not losing any hope.
They fix their gaze
and ponder how it moves
it continues to drag itself
with a body without a bone.
Sometimes it would slink
sometimes it would burrow.
With all its will and strength
it would climb
it would navigate through complex terrain
but never it would give up.
Passerby beholds his beauty
unaware of its hardships
how easily it encloses its pain.
It struggles and waits for the phase
when life would unfold its wings
and when it will take its first flight.
The sight becomes magical
when it spreads it artistic wings gracefully
when it looks up in the infinity of the sky
uprooting itself from melancholia
and flying in the buoyant air.

So, dear friend,
it behooves me to tell you that
you don’t have to be circumspect
if you have gone fishing in a wagon
and a butterfly lands on your hand
holding your favorite fishing rod
just whisper a wish to the butterfly
and it will fly up to heaven
and make it come true.”

I am certain that you read on the other end of the line.

Much love,

You Suck!


I remember the day when your splenetic temper violated.
I remember how you said that you don’t care for me.
And when I had fallen sick,
I remember the way you looked at me and ensured that I was better.
And, I realized that you suck!
You suck!
You suck at showing that you don’t care for me.

You had the count of saying no for every movie that I wanted to watch with you.
You had known the fact that I was disappointed, every time.
And one day you called me to watch a movie,
because the movie was great and not that you thought about me.
I realized that you suck.
You suck!
You suck at showing that you don’t think about me.

You had lost a poem you wrote when you were away from the city.
You never admitted that you wrote it for me.
And one afternoon when I was asleep next to you.
I remember how you twine a wisp of my hair and recited the poem.
And, I realized that you suck.
You suck!
You suck at showing that you never write for me.

The conversation turned into a debate, debate into an argument, argument into a fight.
With a furious face, you jumped down my throat and you hung up on me.
And when it was my birthday,
You gifted me a piece of your poetry that said, “Stay with me in all seasons of love.”
And, I realized that you suck.
You suck!
You suck at showing that you don’t want me.

I don’t know if you know that you suck.
You suck when you say that I suck more than anyone.
You suck even when you try to look away.
You suck when you try to not kiss me.
You suck when you give excuses to hug me.
You suck at showing that you don’t love me.
However, you don’t suck the way you love me.
And I know,
Without YOU my life would SUCK.

-Kritika Vashist