Different Kind Of Ache

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There is a different kind of ache in my heart
although it is similar to the one I had
when the plane took off
and my heart was punched hard
by the gravity of a love left behind
and was stabbed by the distance
that I remember it bled for days
(it still does)
and I remember lying in the bed
sometimes crying loud enough
that the pain echoed in the big house
which felt lonely and small without you
and sometimes stuffing my mouth with the quilt
which failed to keep me warm
(it still doesn’t)
This throbbing ache tonight sways me
to let this longing for you
travel through my heart
into a poetry that won’t ever be fair
to the sincerity of my heart
which might just die
because it has longed for so long
but tonight even if I wish to write
I find no words
and few that hang to the stars
of night that seldom betray me
are too far from my reach
or they might just have
stopped looking for me
So I sit all by myself
pressing my hand
against my chest
where you bury your worries
while it springs with your smell
(it always does)
hoping that this ache goes away. 

-Kritika Vashist

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Long Nights

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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

That One Starry Night

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The Starry Night is an oil on canvas by the Dutch post-impressionist painter Vincent van Gogh. Painted in June, 1889.

You are sitting by the window
staring at the moon that,
sometimes appears as a drunken man with sorrows,
and sometimes as a sober thinker with drunken thoughts.
The lights in the room are off,
and the only light that embraces everything
inside you and inside the room is the moonlight.

The moonlight enters through the windowpane,
that has been broken for a reason,
that you no longer remember.
The light falls on the floor, filling the gaps
between the two tiles, caused by
weariness of your footsteps and time.
You make circles with your left foot,
and it feels like you are dipping your jiggered foot
in the water, healing you as it slowly enters through cracks
in the water, that has been kissed by the moonlight.

You focus back on the moon and you observe that,
some portion of it is veiled by the clouds,
and you wonder if clouds are jealous of how
you stare at the moon with longing and with love.
Your eyes are set on the sight as the clouds continue to
swirl around the moon and later leaving it all alone.

You no longer hear the tick-tick of the clock,
as you listen to the song of the starry night in its silence,
and even though they say that nights are meant to sleep,
you only want to behold the moon,
for you believe that, this night isn’t the one that
brings you the thoughts of your fiddly life and worries,
but helps you to break your skin into a smile.

You stretch your right arm and make a U
with your thumb and forefinger to hold the moon,
and it fits perfectly in the space even from a distance,
but you realize that you cannot hold it forever and,
you break the U, knowing that,
you can still feel its warmth even if you cannot hold.

The writer in you tells you to pick up your pen and diary,
to write down a poem on how beautiful the moon is,
on how painful it is to know that,
you can have it only from a distance;
But you continue to be enamoured of
the moon and the starry night thinking,
that sometimes some poetries should
not penned down on a paper, but they must be
written in the reflection of the sight in your eyes,
for they stay there forever; untouched and undestroyed.

As the loudness of silence increases,
the night gets more still,
and in that stillness you are awake,
and all your fears sleep.
You feel at peace and this night
you do not wish to dream,
as you aren’t sure if your dream could be as
beautiful as the night sky and,
as calming as the moon.

While your eyes are fixed on the moon,
the lullaby by the moon puts you to sleep.
Your eyes closed, and your mouth half opened,
and the lover in you enters your dream, this night too,
telling you that the moon you have been taking a shine to
was familiar to the one you love.

The moon continued to shine in the darkness,
and the stars pinned to its beauty,
while another night sings in your dream, where
the lover in you reads the poetry,
the one that was written in your eyes,
with soft pauses and hard truths etched into it.

-Kritika Vashist

(Now think of the moon as the one someone loves, read the poem again; a story of a lost love and that someone.) 

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

Sleepless Nights

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The stars spread themselves
over the velvet night sky.
The moonlight penetrates
the darkest voids.
As the silence embarks
another sleepless night.

Through out the day
the clock ticks recklessly,
and the night appears
in a blink of an eye.
Perhaps, time loves night,
as the clock ticks like a ponderous animal.
Perhaps, nights are always heavy,
for they carry our thoughts
all our grief, all our sorrows
all broken dreams, all tomorrows.
Perhaps, nights listen patiently,
about the stories of our loneliness
of our lost love, and all secrets
of disappointment, and regrets.
Perhaps, nights are longer,
for they fight with the demon
that lives within us,
and the one only known to us.

And I wonder,
How the nights are silent,
and yet, speak the loudest.
How the nights are meant to sleep,
and yet, I am here at 1:20 am,
struggling with another sleepless night.

-Kritika Vashist

Moon Outshines the Stars

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“Moon outshines the stars,” he said, trying to look away.

I knew what he meant; I knew he was telling me my worth. The only thing he wanted was to stay away, unwillingly. He was afraid of this love, he was faint-hearted. He was petrified with fear, the kind of fear I never really figured out, and showed as if I didn’t mean anything to him. However, I was certain of his love for me, which, was beautifully weird and painful in its own ways. He was never confident about his love, his fears grew more than his love for me.

“Everything on this earth has its own potential and value. We can’t compare a fish to a whale, a stone to a rock, a leaf to a tree. We all are born with some potential and with that given talent we live our lives. Comparison creates negativity and might take away the confidence of the one who is being compared. A star in the sky has its own purpose and every single star knows its worth. You know, here the problem lies, before knowing the worth of something, we start judging them. Remember, the sky wouldn’t shine better without stars. Know the worth of a thing or a person before losing them. And remember that even though moon outshines stars, but every night moon wishes to be with stars. Stars fill the void, and it is how the sky looks beautiful,” I construed and walked away with a hope to see a new him.

– Kritika Vashist