How And Who You Are?

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Drawing by Ismael Álvarez

Fear has spread
like a fever in your head
you step back, while life walks ahead
having your foot stuck in the sinkhole
you wish to swim the ocean, to fly high
dreaming to be whole and all
with your heavy and blind eyes.
Tell me, how long it has been?
To you, when did you become so mean?

Sitting on the bed, in disguise
you slowly lose yourself and then despise
in the growing dark you look for sunrise
wishing the rays to slink through the lies
all that you welcomed and occupied your room
that slowly and painfully broke your own butterfly
the one you lost amidst your gloom.
Why did you let yourself do the wrong?
Where have you hidden the truth for so long?

Open the window, look at the moon
let these fears and doubts leave your room
come out of the sinkhole
let the moonlight fall on you
while the stars kindle your soul
let the truth about you make you warm
while the sky wraps you in its arm
Tell me now, how and who you are?
Have you ever felt so light and free, my star?

-Kritika Vashist

Find Me Here

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(Part I of II)

You told me I was like a dense green forest,
even though there were some deciduous trees.
You said that the smell of the soil lifted your soul,
that you felt relaxed embracing the zestful air while
I let you leave your deep imprints on the soft soil.
But as the season changed from sunshine to rain,
the roughness of your love defoliated my leaves.
You started counting the trees that were still green,
finding none; you left the forest, in search of another.

-Kritika Vashist

An Unanswered Question

There is a question
A question never answered
Like a beautiful butterfly
That nobody ever captured
I have spent my life
Finding the answer
I have spent my life
Living with it; living for it.

They stop me and they say
There is no direction and no gate
But I believe that some day
My mind won’t be blind
My heart won’t shudder and
The butterfly will come and sit
When I have drawn all the light
Listening to the soul within.

-Kritika Vashist

Mystical Rumi (II)

Molana

Again I am raging, I am in such a state by your soul that every
bond you bind, I break, by your soul.
I am like heaven, like the moon, like a candle by your glow; I am all
reason, all love, all soul, by your soul.
My joy is of your doing, my hangover of your thorn; whatever
side you turn your face, I turn mine, by your soul.
I spoke in error; it is not surprising to speak in error in this
state, for this moment I cannot tell cup from wine, by your soul.
I am that madman in bonds who binds the “divs”; I, the madman,
am a Solomon with the “divs”, by your soul.
Whatever form other than love raises up its head from my
heart, forthwith I drive it out of the court of my heart, by your soul.
Come, you who have departed, for the thing that departs
comes back; neither you are that, by my soul, nor I am that, by your soul.
Disbeliever, do not conceal disbelief in your soul, for I will recite
the secret of your destiny, by your soul.
Out of love of Sham-e Tabrizi, through wakefulness or
nightrising, like a spinning mote I am distraught, by your soul.

– Rumi 

This is one of my very favorite poems by this mystical poet. It speaks volume and yes, makes me go wow every time I read it. Dig deeper as you read. You will realize the weight of his words by your soul.

Here is the second quote for Day 2, in response to the quote challenge by Midnight Shadow and Gail.
Hope you enjoyed it.

– Kritika Vashist

They are Humans, I am a Disease

As a child I had a house to live, friends beside,
now the only place I can have is ghettos,
now the only friend I have is darkness.
Though I am alive just like them;
I am not supposed to breathe.
Because for them;
They are respectful, I am a displease.
They are humans, I am a disease.

The school teacher taught, “Be yourself.”
But they made me an object of abuse,
by shamelessly stripping me,
when I showed them the real me.
I am still their laughing-stock,
for carrying a book in my hand.
Though I have brains just like them;
I am not supposed to learn.
Because for them;
They are respectful, I am a displease.
They are humans, I am a disease.

Draped in a bright saari,
shining in gold earrings,
retouched by some make up,
I dance like a woman in front of those,
who look at me with disgust,
who give me a sly leer.
Though I have passion in me;
I am not supposed to have a dream.
Because for them;
They are respectful, I am a displease.
They are humans, I am a disease.

I grew more effeminate,
I was mesmerized by jingling anklets.
My mother took me to saints,
the psychiatrist gave me drugs,
to make me what I should be.
None looked into my eyes,
to know what I wanted to be.
All my tears are still unnoticed;
all my words are still unheard.
Though I have a mouth;
I am not supposed to speak.
Because for them;
They are respectful, I am a displease.
They are humans, I am a disease.

I walked to different places,
far or near, to earn a living.
They allowed all men and women,
not a manly face with strong femininity.
They didn’t interview me;
they didn’t ask me questions.
Their words became vilification of me.
My existence became their only question.
Though I am productive just like them;
I am not supposed to work.
Because for them;
They are respectful, I am a displease.
They are humans, I am a disease.

Beneath the same sky,
on the same land,
leaving me with no option,
they make me sell my body.
My dance academy,
their brothel.
My fantasies,
their desperation.
Though I have a heart just like them;
I am not supposed to have a soul.
Because for them;
They are respectful, I am a displease.
They are humans, I am a disease.

Shamed by many,
nauseated by some.
My existence is ghastly and offensive,
to all of them, to God, to the universe.
They give me a name, “Hijaras”,
and they invite me,
at child’s birth, to marriages,
to bestow the blessings,
but my auspiciousness is still lost,
in their shallowness,
in their hurtful humors.
Though I was born the same way;
I am not supposed to live like them.
Because for them;
They are respectful, I am a displease.
They are humans, I am a disease.

Though I have feelings just like them,
Though I have a heart to love, just like them,
Though I am one of them,
I guess, I would never know,
why they still think;
They are respectful, I am a displease.
They are humans, I am a disease.

The situation here described is usually seen in South Asian countries. This poem is an effort by me to spread the message that the situation in which these people survive should offend us, instead of their existence. They are one of us, and they seek our support. The society never ceases to show its double standards (one para in the poetry describes that). It is time to stand up against the heartless crowd that never fails to demean them in any way. 

However, the situation in India is now improving with time and the acceptance. Transgenders have come out in large numbers to fight for their rights.

〉 Laxmi Narayan Tripathi, a transgender activist who, along with a legal agency, had petitioned the court about their identification as “transgenders” instead of either male or female, last year. Her efforts didn’t go in vain, and The Supreme Court directed the federal and state governments to include transgenders in all welfare programs for the poor, including education, health care and jobs to help them overcome social and economic challenges.

Laxmi Narayan Tripathi, a transgender activist.

〉 Madhu Bai Kinnar – an independent candidate – defeated her opponent by more than 4,500 votes and became the mayor of Raigarh, in the central state of Chhattisgarh on January 2015. Kinnar, who is 35, is a member of the lowly Dalit caste, once known as ‘untouchables’. Before her victory, she earned her living by performing; singing and dancing on Howrah to Mumbai trains. She only stopped when asked to represent her community, which reflects their confidence, willingness to make efforts, and the enthusiasm to be considered as human as we call ourselves. 

Madhu Bai Kinnar, a transgender woman and mayor of Raigarh.

There are more examples of these beautiful people who are not afraid to face the discrimination that the society throws at them. If each one of us starts speaking for them to all those who are displeased by them, I believe that their lives would become more meaningful.

-Kritika Vashist

Lost In You

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Lost in you, the silent night,
where there is peace and seclusion,
where just my heartbeats are audible,
where remembrance of your love is antidote for distress.
I’m loving you, in silence.

Lost in you, dreamy eyes,
where forever our soul entwine,
where we promise to love evermore,
where you are the reason for my existence.
I am loving you, in dreams.

Lost in you, the fragrant quilt,
where I feel your terraces,
where you twine a wisp of my hair,
where our souls couple.
I am loving you, in fancy.

Lost in you, eloquent words,
where you obliquely call me beautiful,
where I throb in happiness,
where you portray our unceasing love.
I am loving you, in poems.

Lost in you, serendipitous ditty,
where broken lyrics string with flair,
where unmusical voice gives pleasure sensations,
where stars are more soothing than the moon.
I am loving you, in songs.

Lost in you, the perfect drizzle,
where we sense each other’s texture,
where the clean water taper the friction,
where the music is pitter-patter of raindrops.
I am loving you, in rains.

Lost in you, the unembellished window,
where I feel the warmth of your eyelids,
where sunbeam makes you shimmer artistically ,
where the glass captures the real adoration.
I am loving you in lights and shadows.

Lost in you, the wondrous painting,
where my name forms the colours,
where a single word completes the picture,
where the thick ink fails to clog the outline.
I am loving you, in delineation.

Let me remain lost in you,
let me keep loving you;
for your love is heavenly!

-Kritika Vashist

(Feb, 2014)


(So, Arpita, a fellow blogger who nominated me for Libester Award asked me about my favorite post/poem, and I had realized that I haven’t share it with all of you. This is the poem I had written last year and is my favorite for some unknown reason. I just like it the way it is. )