Ambit Of Love


He waits for her at the ambit of love.

She enters in anticipation.

He latches the door.

She opens herself up.

He kisses hopes.

She keeps aside the uncertainties.

He clutches his fingers into hers.

She slips into him effortlessly.

He brushes his teeth habitually like every night.

She drinks a glass of water before sleep.

He snores lightly deep in his slumber.

She opens her mouth while sleeping.

He makes exotic coffee.

She prefers hot tea.

He roves around house bare-chested singing.

She throws her wet towel on the bed.

He walks with her along the shoreline.

She sits beside him on the moist beach sand.

He dances with another woman in the bar.

She gulps down another glass squeezing her eyes.

He struggles to explain.

She lets the silence speak.

He turns on the fairy lights entangled in wine bottles.

She listens to their silhouettes’ muted conversation.

He writes about her without writing at all.

She starts her poems with him.

He moves with a gradual momentum.

She runs carelessly.

He doesn’t take the trouble to catch up.

She waits hopelessly for him beyond the ambit of love.

-Kritika Vashist


Long Nights

The thoughts whirl around her head. The words wander on the sheet. While the bewitching moonlight smoothly falls on her face, she gazes at the stars of the midnight. She refills her ink pen and pours herself a drink.

Knowing of the nights that wake you up to the soft sunlight slinking into the room while you are awake, she whispers to herself, “This night is going to be a long one.”

-Kritika Vashist

What’s for Lunch?

2:00 PM on the clock.
The project report book was kept aside.
The computer screen was turned off.
She picked something from her bag, and colleagues around asked in anticipation;
“What’s for lunch?”
“Poetic and soft sunshine of the morning, and the road I traveled today,” she replied.

Kritika Vashist

What is she like?


She shines through the cracks on her skin
She stands tall despite of her broken bones.

The radiance of her smile in the face of
trouble and misery, phoney and deceiver.

What is she like? Asked the wide-eyed world.

She is like the mirror, reflecting vitality
of her high spirits even when broken.

– Kritika Vashist