My Moon

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Long Nights

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The thoughts whirl around her head. The words wander on the sheet. While the bewitching moonlight smoothly falls on her face, she gazes at the stars of the midnight. She refills her ink pen and pours herself a drink.

Knowing of the nights that wake you up to the soft sunlight slinking into the room while you are awake, she whispers to herself, “This night is going to be a long one.”

-Kritika Vashist

Clavicle – Yet Again

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And then that one night
When he had her beside him
Under the the bewitching sky
The moonlight was overshadowed
By the radiance of her clavicle.

– Kritika Vashist

(I had written nano poetries on Clavicles earlier as well. If you like, you may read them here.)

Reborn

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What was real blindness like? I wondered while lying down on the floor staring at the roof of the room whose only furniture was darkness. Is it in the inability to see the light? Or is it in the inability to see the facades they wear?

On further introspection, I realized that I never fathom out that behind a facade there is no light, so how can they ever think good for me? I wanted to know who I am, I wanted to see if my skin was still breathing or the darkness had occluded all the pores.

I ran my fingers along my face, and when my fingers reached the end of the forehead, it felt as a shore to the sea of black hair that had captured the whirlwind of realism, ready to sweep away the pseudo.

The window of the room howled in the darkness, and the glass cracked with the force of the wind that blew outside. I stood up with a slightly loosen hair bun and eagerness in my eyes to look outside the window.

The moonlight entered through the crack, and gave birth to my shadow, the part of me that got lost amidst the darkness.

The wind permeated the room, wiping out their villainous smell, and flew through my loosen bun, unfolding each strand full of power with its tenderness.

The moonlight seeped through my veins, bestirring the blood to flow smoothly with a hope.

The veil of blindness was peeled off by the songs of the wind, the dance of the moonlight, poetry of the stars and silence of the soul. The pores breathed again, and I was reborn.

– Kritika Vashist

(Painting my Madison Moore)

Romance

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Comfortably breathing in
her golden-yellow dress
she whirls in eddies of soft
wind permeating every space
of her infinite field of liveliness.
The sunlight falls on her skin
and she shimmers artistically
like a sunflower in the garden.
The glow in her eyes reflecting
the sun of love and seclusion.
Her feet dance on the gentle soil
to the sound of birds chirping
leaving imprints of her tenderness.
Her amiable laugh echoes in the
valley, embracing all of her.

At night, the stars shine in her eyes
the affectionate stare talks about
all her insanity, all her dreams.
Wearing moonlight every night
she sleeps hearing the soulful
melody of the waves that sing
her songs of love and intimacy.

In the fathomless love
in the beauty of nature
in cold nights, in warm days
her romance blossoms.

– Kritika Vashist

This is in response to Bhavpreet’s Free Writing Challenge. Also, I am finally done with all free writing challenges 🙂