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
The wolf howled at the moon
The cries of madness
The silence of fears.
The songs of despondent.
Scared of the darkness
The wolf swallowed itself
before the darkness could
devour on his pyretic flesh.
-Kritika Vashist
(Melancholy is an inevitable phase. Let it just pass through words.)
He creeps into my mind
his steps crushes
my consciousness,
conquers my
power of thinking.
The quiver in my voice,
as he slits
my throat
with his insanity,
slaughters my own people .
The words come out
like a fireball
coerced by his torture.
Bloodshed of his fierce battle
spreads upon my sentient soul.
The demon dances maliciously
wining over my pneuma
to the sound of my
cry in delirium.
– Kritika Vashist
(Image courtesy: platformphoto)
From the Soul to the nib of the Pen 