If I Could I Would

If for once I could loose the grip 

and the night here stays  

a night,

whose moonlit sky you control

I would be able to believe that 

if not the moon, 

the night has surely accepted me. 

– Kritika Vashist 

Got to know that April is the National Poetry Month, to celebrate poetry, and some have decided to write a poem each day. Although I think it’s unfair to writing when you push it, but I also feel that I can take this up for today at least. Share yours too. You may wish to tag me.

PS. Lately, I have been thinking about my blogger friends here. I don’t know why my Reader doesn’t show up posts by people I want to read, but I miss you guys.

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

How And Who You Are?

12003871_901706426545951_7803539321732320061_n
Drawing by Ismael Álvarez

Fear has spread
like a fever in your head
you step back, while life walks ahead
having your foot stuck in the sinkhole
you wish to swim the ocean, to fly high
dreaming to be whole and all
with your heavy and blind eyes.
Tell me, how long it has been?
To you, when did you become so mean?

Sitting on the bed, in disguise
you slowly lose yourself and then despise
in the growing dark you look for sunrise
wishing the rays to slink through the lies
all that you welcomed and occupied your room
that slowly and painfully broke your own butterfly
the one you lost amidst your gloom.
Why did you let yourself do the wrong?
Where have you hidden the truth for so long?

Open the window, look at the moon
let these fears and doubts leave your room
come out of the sinkhole
let the moonlight fall on you
while the stars kindle your soul
let the truth about you make you warm
while the sky wraps you in its arm
Tell me now, how and who you are?
Have you ever felt so light and free, my star?

-Kritika Vashist

The Melancholic Song

Painting by Januz Miralles
Painting by Januz Miralles

I struggled throughout the nights,
Pulled out all the stops during the days,
Fatigued eyes did not stop painting.
The echoes did not cease for a moment,
In the deafness of bleeding ears .
The head exploded with each verse.
The heart paused for longer than usual
and heavier than heretofore, after your name.
I crawled inside the creased sheets,
With the song still playing inside me.
The silhouette darkened more in chorus,
The beaming sun, all clouds wailed in chorus.
When later the moon howled
In silence and in pervasive pain,
The words of the song echoed louder
Inside the empty bones,
While the beats slip into the skin,
In spite of many denials.

Looking at the blank canvas of our love
In a room reflecting the faded memories
I wondered in desolation,
How you continue to be the song?

I broke down more and more,
Convincing myself that
I have finally jumped off the cliff, and
I don’t wish to love you anymore.

-Kritika Vashist

The Wolf

The wolf howled at the moon
The cries of madness
The silence of fears.
The songs of despondent.

Scared of the darkness
The wolf swallowed itself
before the darkness could
devour on his pyretic flesh.

-Kritika Vashist

(Melancholy is an inevitable phase. Let it just pass through words.)

संगीत (With Translation)

Photo of Bangles at Dilli Haat, Delhi, India.
Photo of Bangles at Dilli Haat, Delhi, India.

“संगीत”

आसमान में इस आधे-अधूरे चाँद के साथ
दिल के दर-ओ-दीवार में दर्द उतर आया हैं।

ज़िन्दगी की इस दरहम – बरहम महफ़िल में
गर्दिश-ए-आफत में
बेवफ़ाई-हा-ए-याराँ में
मेरा चैन कहीं खो गया हैं।

इन रंजिशों के शोर में
तेरी गुलाबी चूड़ियों  का
रात की तेरी लोरियों का
संगीत कही खो गया हैं।

आज रात फिर तेरी यादों का भवर, माँ
मेरे इन आँसुओ में उतर आया है।


” The Song”

With the coming of half-made moon in the sky
Pain has invaded each wall and corner of my heart.

In the helter-skelter gathering of life
In the movements of adversities and calamities
In the inconstancies of beloved
my peace has been lost somewhere.

In the noises of sorrows and grief
the song of your tinkling rosy bangles 
the song of your night time lullabies
has been lost somewhere.

Again tonight, an eddy of your memories, mother
whirls through my tears.

(Thank you, Himanshu for helping me with English translation.)


“Sangeet”

Aasman mei iss aadhe-adhure chand ke sath
Dil ke dar-o-deewar mei dard utar aaya hai

Zindagi ke is darham-barham mehfil mei
Gardish-e-aafat mei
Bewafai-haa-e-yaaraan mei
mera chan kahi khoo gaya hai

Inn ranjishon ke shor mei
teri gulabi choodiyon ka
raat ke teri looriyon ka
sangeet kahi khoo gaya ha

Aaj raat fir teri yaadon ka bhawar, maa
meri inn aansuon mei utar aaya hai


(Note: The Picture was clicked at Dilli Haat, INA, India, which is the most exquisite place to buy beautiful Indian handicrafts.)

– Kritika Vashist

Don’t Wake Me Up

A sketch by me.
Don’t Wake Me Up- A pencil sketch by me.

The stars outside are still dancing
at the tune of the drunken moon
peeping through the window at
my drained body weary of the
malevolence flashing in the
eyes of the so called innocents;

The tick-tick of the broken clock
contrastingly lying peacefully on
the side of my sympathetic bed is
still convulsing my brain freighted
with unspoken unheard thoughts
wanting the silence to fade them;

The demon in his phantom glow
hasn’t yet howled its wonted
lullabies of the slithering night
inviting him to invade my mind
and to cover my consciousness
with his brooding profundity;

The softness of my merciful pillow
hasn’t yet soaked all the tears of
the love lost amidst the doubts
and the memories from the past
appearing as dark as the night sky
secretly spacing them in its infinity;

Living within my own complexities
my unfulfilled incomplete dreams
blurry or vivid in the darkness
perfect or imperfect in meaning
that I save for these silent nights
haven’t yet whispered their song;

Above all,
Reflective of the pensiveness
the words falling down from
the vaulted heights of my mind
into the warmth of the quilt
haven’t yet marked down the
last verse of my unheralded
nameless poem of tonight;
so keep out, shut the door
and don’t wake me up
for the night is still in its
leisurely contemplation.

-Kritika Vashist

SPACE

“I’ve some news for you.”

“Yeah?”

“So, I got selected for the project.”

“Oh my God! That’s wonderful!”

“Yeah! Finally, I’ll get some space.

“Oh, I see. You wanted to be an astronaut so that you can make a boring pun to your girlfriend like a loser.”

“Well, maybe.”

“But wouldn’t that be too much space for too long?”

“Never more than the space between our hearts; never longer than our love.”

– Kritika Vashist

The Wait

Landscapes-Moon-over-Sea

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