The Routine

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Color of the sky changes
from blue to grey to black
the wind that had resting
like a hope in some corner of the room
finally blows and swipes off the grime.
I had reached home late tonight
I did it all again, like everyday
I tried to ask the routine
and wondered if that is
how it is supposed to be
I walked a bit slow,
waited to catch another train
I passed a smile to the woman
who seemed to be doing
all again, like everyday
Her stiffness in expression
told that she had learned the routine
unlike me, she was prepared.
A few drops that earlier fall lightly on me
are now dripping down fast without spaces
I hear their sound,
I wonder if they are trying to hush the wind
I notice the wind pushing them
but each raindrop together
makes the dust to settle down, and now
I have this sight in my eyes, not the dust
But it doesn’t rain everyday.

-Kritika Vashist

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Away From Home

 

Sitting miles away from your home
while it rains outside
you trace down the raindrops
slipping slowly with the time
as you begin to trace back
the roads leading to your home…

The music of the rain rhythms
with the words in her voice
playing inside your head
The petrichor takes you back
to trees, the blue sky and makes
you miss the fragrance of your home
The breeze passing through you
softly strokes memories, once again
And then in your loneliness
you wish if the warmth of that hug
was there to embrace you…

A few days back was my blog’s 3rd anniversary. I wish WP had informed me in time, nonetheless here is the poem.
Happy blog anniversary to me! 🙂
Thank you all for sticking around, reading and encouraging me.

Love and Hugs!
Kritika Vashist

Fading Away

Artwork by Mark Francis Williams

With the lightning in the sky
my words echo, as you say
breaking down all your
walls like a loud thunder.
While you still try to silence
the wind of endearment,
the words from the mouth
I once had put my heart
into screams at me;
“Like those murky clouds
quilting the entire sky, you
crowd me with gloominess.”
But what do you know
about the clouds, darling?
Before you murder them with
your false promises and pride,
in your painful game of love,
you must know that over
all these years of insanity
they have been charged with
so much unrequited love that
today they finally burst aloud
and they rain all that they
have held for so long,
for a sky that wasn’t theirs.
Look up and gulp the truth
down your burning throat
that all clouds have faded away
and they are never coming your way.

Kritika Vashist

After The Storm

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Understand, that when people you love
slip quietly away from you
your heart makes the loudest cry;
that cry shouldn’t be stored up
and make you heavy each day,
because the sky screeches thunder
when there is a violent storm
and later it rains down all its pain.
Understand, that the rain would,
wash off the gloomy clouds to
give you a clear sight again.

-Kritika Vashist

The Endless Perfect Drizzle

window-rain

The alarm didn’t wake me up today, it was the perfect drizzle.
I pulled the curtains back and saw how the rain was drenching the trees, which looked more alive, and how the wind was pelting across the raindrops.
Reclining in my deckchair, holding a cup of tea, I contemplated the drizzle. This wasn’t how I would usually start my day, but today I couldn’t stop myself from making my soul comfortable with thoughts and the rain. You know, it is rare and beautiful when you are comfortable with your thoughts.

The street was shining dimly, and by the late evening, the wind had started to pelt faster across the raindrops and slowly through my hair. I don’t remember the last time I felt this ebullient. Every fear that had kept me wondering about what and how the future days would be like without you fell along with the raindrops. And hope had embraced me the way rain was embracing the sky.

The rain didn’t stop. I liked the fact that it did not. It was smooth, perfect and thoughtful. And how describing it reminded me our conversation we had last night, which, was nothing but a perfect drizzle. Although it ended, yet, it felt like this perfect endless drizzle.

-Kritika Vashist