If It Is Just a Dream


Even after all this time
Waiting for your return
Looking back and knowing
How far I have come
Counting the days, the minutes
Writing the songs of longing
You say that it is just a dream
I’ll say,
I don’t mind keeping
My eyes closed forever.

-Kritika Vashist


May Not Be There Tomorrow

girl happy

You turn away your gaze
your pride
your ignorance
overshadowing what life offers you.
Stop and look back at the opportunity
for it may not be there tomorrow.

Your eyes get heavy
holding the tears
of unfulfilled love
occluding you to see
the beautiful person
standing besides you.
Wipe away that pain and
hug that kind soul
for they may not be there tomorrow.

You hide behind the wall
of misunderstandings
even though you could hear
voices of falling out.
Break down the wall
and hold their hand
for they may not be there tomorrow.

The disbelief in yourself
grows larger than your shadows
encumbering you to move
any further.
Do not step back
in uncertainty
for the chance may not be there tomorrow.

You look down
walk roughly in despair
while melancholy
tries to chop down your wings.
Look up, see the vast sky
and spread your wings to fly
for time may not be there tomorrow.

Love what you have got today
for it may not be there tomorrow.

Love the life you have been blessed with
for you may not be there tomorrow.

-Kritika Vashist

Sleepless Nights


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