The Calling

Moonlight Ocean Painting
Beneath the bulge of your eyes
lays the yearning for his face
and on it lingers the reflection
of the moon to whom you recount.
At the corner his oceanic eyes
stand the waves, thirsty for you
that soon would flood the shore
because your moon bestrews
the ocean with all your epistles
inducing the waves to rush
until he reaches you,
until you hear his screech.
-Kritika Vashist

Until You Come and Wake Me Up

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The lights in this big and empty room tremble as my legs shiver
and your name with each skipped breath touches my lips without kissing
The walls embedding your shadow echo the song I heard over the phone
and its words go all out finding the meaning without you around
I leave the door open, I leave my voice there
for you to come, for you to hear

Within the folds of the sheet of no end, I’ve hidden all my thirst and desires
and the fathomless creases on it read the letter I haven’t yet written
My hands stretch to touch your face emerging like a rainbow in the clouds
and my ears in this aching silence try to hear the song you haven’t yet sung
I shut the lights off, I shut my eyes
for a dream to come, for a love to live within

Until you come and wake me up

-Kritika Vashist

Different Kind Of Ache

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There is a different kind of ache in my heart
although it is similar to the one I had
when the plane took off
and my heart was punched hard
by the gravity of a love left behind
and was stabbed by the distance
that I remember it bled for days
(it still does)
and I remember lying in the bed
sometimes crying loud enough
that the pain echoed in the big house
which felt lonely and small without you
and sometimes stuffing my mouth with the quilt
which failed to keep me warm
(it still doesn’t)
This throbbing ache tonight sways me
to let this longing for you
travel through my heart
into a poetry that won’t ever be fair
to the sincerity of my heart
which might just die
because it has longed for so long
but tonight even if I wish to write
I find no words
and few that hang to the stars
of night that seldom betray me
are too far from my reach
or they might just have
stopped looking for me
So I sit all by myself
pressing my hand
against my chest
where you bury your worries
while it springs with your smell
(it always does)
hoping that this ache goes away. 

-Kritika Vashist

If You Were Here

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Artwork by Keller & Witwer

If you were here,
You could have seen
How much of you
My eyes have hidden
And how much
They yearn to see your face
And how heavy
my eyelids have been
Since the night we were awake. 

If you were here,
You could have seen
How much my lips
Have dried holding the words
I want to speak into you
And how much
Of you
Echoes in my voice
And how thirstily
I call your name, craving for you.

If you were here,
You could have seen
How impatiently I stand
With my arms wide open
Wanting to feel your touch
And how madly
I tap my feet
Wanting to dance with you.

If you were here,
You could have seen
How drunk
I’m on all these poems
All the songs you sing
And how much
My silly heart races
Thinking about you,
Like you are the only one I know.

If you were here,
You could have seen
The look on my face
When I imagine me with you
And how intensely
I embrace the scent
Of your breaths in my own
And how foolishly
The air around me blows.

If you were here,
You could have seen
How much
I want to be with you
And how much
I want to love you.

-Kritika Vashist

Unsent Epistles To Him

Painting by JarekPuczel

That summer evening under the street light
after we had talked about the music the café played,
the kind of books the bookstore had,
and how your lips dried,
and how my eyes twinkled
every time I lied about
not wanting to kiss you,
and you knowing the truth;
I told you how beautiful the evening was,
and after the settling sun has encountered
a gaze more brighter and intense than itself,
we went towards the station to catch our trains.
I held your hand, asking you to stay for a while,
and then wishing if we could stay there,
till the moon was up,
till I have tasted your favorite drink from your mouth,
till my neck has clasped you, and
till our light skins have been shadowed
by the softness of the moonlight;
but I could not have stayed for long, and you had to leave.
I did not tell you then, and you will never know
how the curve of your smile that evening had shaped my love,
and that my eyes had captured it,
and I still open that image through my mind into my heart, secretly.
We reached the platform and you went ahead for the hug
even after knowing that I give awkward hugs,
because you thought I get nervous around crowds;
however, like many other things that I slipped under
my smile, and hid while I tucked my hair behind my ear,
and few that I managed to drop in the ice tea and on the plate,
wishing you to catch them while I talked about the
lights outside the window looking at the roof lights of the café,
I managed to veil this behind my self-consciousness,
and to not let you know that it was the feeling of getting screwed
by the love that was filling the space between you and me.
The brakes hissed and screeched as the train slowed down;
it was time to board the train, and let my heart travel
in the never ending anticipation of your return.

Kritika Vashist

If It Is Just a Dream

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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.

-Kritika Vashist

Nazm (With English Translation)

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राज़-ओ-नियाज़ जो थी मेरी ज़िन्दगी।
तेरे अलविदा से हुए अहले-इ-क़लम
इश्क़ की सुखन बयान करते अब मेरी तिश्नगी।


Raaz-o-niyaaz jo thi meri zindagi
Tere alwida se hue alhe-e-kalam
Ishq ke sukhan bayaan karte ab meri tisnagi


The intimate conversations between us were my life
Your goodbye made me a poet
Now my love poems narrate about my longing for you.

-Kritika Vashist