The blue sky unveils itself
exposing its darkest layers
where I pin my sorrows
the reflection of which
flashes into the watery eyes
The quiet inter-flow of sweat
of the frozen skin with tears
warms up the numb emotions
The mind gets heavy while the
weight of my steps drop off
The wind howls in madness
only to peel off my skin, slowly
to let the melancholy assail me
while sorrows sways on the
morbid beats of the darkest night.
– Kritika Vashist
What was real blindness like? I wondered while lying down on the floor staring at the roof of the room whose only furniture was darkness. Is it in the inability to see the light? Or is it in the inability to see the facades they wear?
On further introspection, I realized that I never fathom out that behind a facade there is no light, so how can they ever think good for me? I wanted to know who I am, I wanted to see if my skin was still breathing or the darkness had occluded all the pores.
I ran my fingers along my face, and when my fingers reached the end of the forehead, it felt as a shore to the sea of black hair that had captured the whirlwind of realism, ready to sweep away the pseudo.
The window of the room howled in the darkness, and the glass cracked with the force of the wind that blew outside. I stood up with a slightly loosen hair bun and eagerness in my eyes to look outside the window.
The moonlight entered through the crack, and gave birth to my shadow, the part of me that got lost amidst the darkness.
The wind permeated the room, wiping out their villainous smell, and flew through my loosen bun, unfolding each strand full of power with its tenderness.
The moonlight seeped through my veins, bestirring the blood to flow smoothly with a hope.
The veil of blindness was peeled off by the songs of the wind, the dance of the moonlight, poetry of the stars and silence of the soul. The pores breathed again, and I was reborn.
– Kritika Vashist
(Painting my Madison Moore)
She pulled back the dull colored curtains and looked outside the window. The street was empty and the dim glow of the light covered it like lusterless black hair. There were things to notice, but only if she has dared to move out from borders and horizon lines. In silence she had failed to shut the noises speaking loud inside her and keeping empty beds elsewhere.
She turned around and looked herself at the fading mirror. The one that showed real her, with no twinkling in her eyes as it appeared to some. Nothing here is what it seems, she thought as she gazed at herself. She leaned slightly towards the mirror and touched her skin that had become pale and flowered lips that had dried. How the death of the only man who loved her, the only man she loved, left her half awake and almost dead.
She touched her reflection and contemplated her body in the mirror.
“Could we try to reinvent?” she heard a voice coming from her reflection.
Maybe it was time to answer the soul’s knock and to listen to her inner wisdom.
“I’ve been climbing up the wall with you,” she cried as the air of melancholy rushed through the window.
“There’s an animal inside. There’s a fear that won’t subside, of all the things I’ll never do. Will I ever follow through?” She continued her cry.
Death separates bodies not love. And love gives strength to overcome any fear; strength to dream and to rebuild ourselves. The reflection conveyed to her about the strength of love.
“Feed the head with common sense. Leave this place behind, in silence. And the weight we find inside us.
Lead me to the edge of night.
Till the dawn,
The end of time,
Till the fire blazing light,
Shines again within our eyes,” the reflection sang to her as the wind inside the room played the music.
She had perceived the truth. She became conscious of the fact that pain subsides when love breathes around.
We’re yet to bleed.
We’re yet to dream.
All the time and energy,” and the voice vanished into the thin air, and the reflection had that shine in the eyes.
“Heart like ours is impossible to separate and so does our love”, she spoke in a whisper.
-Kritika Vashist
(Song by The Naked and Famous, Heart like ours)
You may read on Comfortably numb, Stairway to heaven and don’t write me off just yet, here : https://krivashist.wordpress.com/category/my-story-your-song/
From the Soul to the nib of the Pen 