Nothing

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Illustration by Soltreis

The fog outside has veiled
the summer of love
of you and me
and the sunshine still
peeps through the spaces
between the branches and trees
and falls on my face you once knew
on my hands that waved goodbye
and I know, it isn’t because of you
it isn’t because the sun still shines,
it’s the unconsciousness
weaving poems, word after a word
poems that are soporific, not lullabies
poems, without a meaning
without a purpose,
and they don’t matter,
not even the sieved sunshine,
nothing does…

-Kritika Vashist

Heartache

 Artwork by Christian Schloe

Artwork by Christian Schloe

…and when you heard
that it was just a headache
the veins collapsed
the vessels were pinched
a fire burned inside each artery
Heartache – was too hard to tell.

Kritika Vashist

PS. This is my 200th post on the blog. I cannot believe! Too much feelings or too much words, I cannot decide.

Mystical Rumi (III)

Molana

Today is Day 3, the last day of the challenge. I do not wish it to end. However, today I will share 3 quotes by Rumi. You will have to dive deep to know the depth of his each word. 


1. “I have lived on the lip
of insanity, wanting to know reasons,
knocking on a door. It opens.
I’ve been knocking from the inside.”


2. “The cure for pain is in the pain.”

(Here is the answer for all my melancholic poetries. I do not need motivation, I just need to pen down the pain, and some that is left to be felt as I gaze at the night sky.)


3. “My heart is so small
it’s almost invisible.
How can You place
such big sorrows in it?
“Look,” He answered,
“your eyes are even smaller,
yet they behold the world.”


This was in reponse to the Quote Challenge by Midnight Shadow and Gail. Thank you both, I so loved doing it.

I hope you all enjoyed reading the quotes.

– Kritika Vashist

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

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.
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“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,
Kritika

Another Day

4127

Still, there’s another day,
to unfold the perspective,
hidden beneath your grief.
To chase the sun,
of laughter, you had forgot to see.
To unravel the philosophies,
of contentment, you once buried.

Still, there’s another day,
to fill your eyes with dreams,
That went down the watery grave.
To look at the moon and stars at night,
that teaches to shine in the darkness.
To ink your hand,
with words you love,
with meaning you find.

Still, there’s another day,
to drench yourself in the rain,
making you feel young again.
To look at the mirror,
telling you to meet yourself.

Still, there’s another day,
to know that you are a human,
and you do mistakes.
To know that pain is essential,
to realize the worth of pleasure
To give yourself a chance,
and breathe in a fresh air.

Still, there’s another day,
to forgive them for eyes,
they couldn’t see.
To forgive yourself for,
your voices you couldn’t hear.

– Kritika Vashist