Dear Mom

IMG_20150510_223848_HDR.

I had a sheet and a pen
to write down everything
that my heart and soul
wanted to convey
but, my hands couldn’t
ink the sheet and my mind
couldn’t put them in words.

I know how it felt
when with all love
you pulled my cheeks
and kissed them
one normal morning
which, however
with your adoration look
turned into a special one.
Later that day, I realized
how stupid was I
to call any day a normal day;
for everyday of my life
I have you beside me,
and that was special
and shall remain
forever and beyond.

Perhaps, I wanted to tell you
how much I love you
in words, in poems.
But you know?
I couldn’t really convey it.

The blank sheet then looked
at me in disappointment.
Perhaps, it didn’t want
itself to remain expressionless.

I picked up my pencil
started to draw lines, curves
whatever that my hands could
and my heart would draw.

I remember how your eyes
glittered in happiness
how your eyes could shine
even when they were moist
after my love to you was conveyed.
It was then I realized that
sometimes a picture speaks
more than words.
I know that I would never have
enough words to tell you
how much you mean to me
or to say that my life without you
would be worthless and suffocating.
However, I hope that the colors that
filled the sheet could tell you
a bit about my love and respect
I have for you, dear Mom.

– Kritika Vashist

PS. This is the painting that I gifted her.

Who says love is beautiful? (2)

Poets write poems, singers sing, dancers dance, painters paint, to express their grief, disappointment, sadness and regrets, and they then pass it on to the world. World reads it and appreciate.
She appreciated them, too. She was kind to share their sadness by being its reader and an admirer.
He loved her unconditionally. He loved her in her anger. He loved her in her weirdness. He danced, he sang and he wrote in pain to her about his melancholy, but the beloved refused to acknowledge. She wasn’t kind enough to share his sadness by being a listener.
Now he cries inside, but still narrates her as a kind soul in all his poems, paintings and unsung songs.

Who says love is beautiful?

-Kritika Vashist