If This Is The Last Time

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If this is the last time
that I hold you close
while you drape your love
around my skin
then let it not stay
within the lines
let it crawl
let it run wild
let it permeate beyond the lines

If this is the last time
to taste the love
from the tip of your fingers
then let them rove
in and around
within and beyond
even if it means
falling from the edge,
for my heart is already
engulfed in the ocean
where your sight swims

If this is the last time
that our bodies unite
then let us merge into eternity

– Kritika Vashist

Ps. Dusting down my drawing sheets, pens and pencils. Always hoping to create something new.

It’s Better That You Understand

It’s better that you understand
the waves wash away the sand off your feet
and sometimes brings back the things once meant to be lost
and that the sky lies only at the end

It’s better for you to loose the grip
your hands are bruised
the string has frayed
the more you hold the more you’ll slip

It’s better that you sit by yourself at the coffee shop
as she boarded the bus
the dirt has settled too
and there is no point in waiting at the bus stop

It’s better you silence all your emotionally stressed nights
a star in the sky was what she always was
but the twinkling is now a spark of fire burning inside
let the pinned memories in the sky stay out of your sight

It’s better for you to travel where the wind takes you
now that all the candles have blown out
every regret and every sorrow has been met
it’s time to shrug them off in a way you always knew

Your tea is cold
your head still spinning
from the last night heavy drink
She’s gone and you’ve become old
and you haven’t yet realized any

So it’s better to fold back the unfinished letter
because something are complete
in knowing an exit without an end.

– Kritika Vashist

It Was Dark Again

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It was dark again, outside and inside
I reached out for your hand, trembling
like a little girl who is just about to die
and you played your game of hiding
while I could trace your breaths in silence
and you told me you never found me
when I never hid behind specious curtains

I looked in your eyes and counted ways
you pushed me away saying there aren’t any
turning my solace into an impassable maze
and I still cried that I want you, in fear
but you turned away to close the window
shadowing the moonlight that torched my tear
making space for me to shake, guess, break
for your second opinions, but never to make

The walls I painted for you ached with pain
were they paintings or a meaningless stain?
the tired eyes warned of approaching sorrow
and love asked if there was one more day to borrow
my hands frayed from all the letters they wrote to you
shaking and wanting, only if you had written a few
but it was dark again
and you couldn’t see what I had to bear
but it was dark again
I wonder why you never tried to hear

Every time after I left and before I entered in
I realized how you cleaned debris of the truth
but couldn’t understand how some still stuck my skin
every night before I slept, every day before I was awake
you disappeared into the darkness without saying a word
except that I should drop it all, you have no time to take
but it was dark again, darling
between the time my eyes opened and closed
and I could see the truth clear and stark
it was all in the dark and the darkness exposed
and it was dark again
I was stupid enough to instill your love
to forgive you, to love you with tattered hopes
and you were fool enough to think
I am not familiar with how darkness envelopes.

-Kritika Vashist

Glass of Wine

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Between my dreams and reality,
that sends shivers down my spine
my fears and hopes swim
like untold stories in a glass of wine.

All my implicit thoughts,
the desire to make you mine
all lie smoothly on the impression
of my lips on a glass of wine.

A sip of hopefulness,
a sip of helplessness,
tells my thoughts to recline,
alters the color of my eyes
while I talk to an affable glass of wine.

There is no song to play
no words on the blue line,
yet the heart weeps
as I drink another glass of wine.

– Kritika Vashist

(October, 2014)

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