Waves Which Were Never Heard

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There were so many waves
that ended before they could
reach the shore of my mouth;
and some ebbed away,
that I could never find them again;
and while some quivering waves
survived all my quiet
inhibitions and doubts
and touched the shore,
the sun was too loud
and grains too deaf,
to hear even a word.

– Kritika Vashist

Every Night When I Am Bewitched By You

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Every night when I sit to write
a word or two to tell you
about this loneliness I despise
I end up turning the pages
one by one of our memories
as I cry
as I cry
and when my eyes get tired
and I finally to go sleep
I hold you closer than
my own heartbeats
and I see you there with me
in my dream
in my dream
lying next to me
running hands through my hair
singing me a lullaby that
you’re always here
you’re always here

-Kritika Vashist

I wonder

What have I settled for?
Ink in my pen or the words.

What have I accomplished?
Their smiles or my unheard cries

Where have I escaped?
To another planet or the one inside me.

What have I longed for?
Their love or mine own.

Where have I hidden myself?
In seclusion or loneliness.

What have I lost?
Time or my mind.

What have this life decided?
I wonder.

Kritika Vashist

Glass of Wine

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Between my dreams and reality,
that sends shivers down my spine
my fears and hopes swim
like untold stories in a glass of wine.

All my implicit thoughts,
the desire to make you mine
all lie smoothly on the impression
of my lips on a glass of wine.

A sip of hopefulness,
a sip of helplessness,
tells my thoughts to recline,
alters the color of my eyes
while I talk to an affable glass of wine.

There is no song to play
no words on the blue line,
yet the heart weeps
as I drink another glass of wine.

– Kritika Vashist

(October, 2014)

Blank Pages

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One night you’ll be all alone by yourself
with your grey hair and wrinkled face
you’d try to plop down near the fireplace
when the forgotten love would break its shell.

Your shaky and crinkled hands would try
to hold the diary of blank pages I threaded
for you to know that I’ll there if ever your sails shredded
for you to heart out your life’s hows and whys.

In subdued glow your droopy and wet eyes
which I believe still appear as an ocean
the one that had swallowed me in devotion
would read those blank pages you had despise.

You might cry a bit, you will regret a lot
when you’ll see the fire burning outside, inside
of your heart where I had once comfortably reside
when you’ll try to recreate my face you forgot.

In your loneliness you would be full of time
and you would try to ink those blank pages
with your sorrows and how life is at lonely stages
but by then you’d realize that dry ink is not worth a dime.

In the blue and the dim and the fire light
my love would come and make you whole
for even then you’ll remain pilgrim in my soul
for even then my love won’t be out of your sight.

-Kritika Vashist

The Autumn Leaf (II)

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The Autumn Leaf (II)

The Autumn leaf fell,
into the roughness of the soil,
after it was parted away.

Tears of blood of painful adieu,
spreading all over it;
Red, magenta.
Fear of numbness,
piercing its skin;
Yellow, orange.
Darkness of loneliness,
enclosing it;
Black, brown.

The passerby beholds the colors,
he calls it a beauty.
Perhaps, like all the colors,
colors of pain,
colors of numbness,
colors of loneliness,
are beautiful, too.
Like the color of a fake smile,
they too hide the melancholy.

Holding on to nothing,
the autumn leaf wishes,
to be blown away,
by the fearless wind.

– Kritika Vashist