Raindrops

The light in the room was dim before he entered and drew the curtains. The weather outside seemed pleasant. 

He sat adjacent to me, picked up his diary lying on the table, and pulled out the pen tucked in my hair bun. The curtains were blowing by the wind outside. Clouds were moving, some near to each other, some far away. 

I closed the book I was holding, and looked at his thoughts wandering around the corners of a page. A few raindrops fell on the window pane, to gently meander.

The rain had started to pour down few seconds later. Raindrops fell on the muddy ground, on leaves of the plant kept near the window, and a few tiny drops fell on the page of his diary. 

My eyes could no longer trace raindrops falling on the window pane. They fell on the surface and got merged. While a few on the leaves got pinned, the rest glided themselves down. 

The sound of quiet was broken by his “damn.” The raindrops that fell on the page were slowly merging into the warmth of his words. 

He closed his diary and I closed the window. 

– Kritika Vashist 

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

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