Her ArmS

Her Arms

her arms became the warmth of the ocean
for his incessant tears needed a shore of hope

the anchor of his freedom was living a life of solitude
to which her arms became the strongest rope

by
Kritika

Note from the Author
Copyright 2020 (All rights reserved)
Copying of the content and image is not permissible. The writers put in their souls in writing a piece of literature. A prior permission of the author of the blog is mandatory before using the content or the image (which has been created by the author of the blog).

StiLl aLivE ?

Still Alive ?

under the spell of silence
stars I see glistening bright
hope, is it still alive?
mine is flickering like the tube light

butterflies of paper I crafted
easily they seem to fall
love that I poured in creating
the adhesive did not fit at all

the fairies I pasted on the chosen wall
ceased to brighten the nights
that time when I enjoyed drowning
with my diary and pen to write

hope, is it still alive?
mine seems to be loosing its comfort
with an unknown silence inside.

by
Kritika

*I weaved this piece a few months back but was dubious about publishing it. Last night I read a piece on hope written by Punam https://paeansunpluggedblog.wordpress.com/2020/08/24/sometimes/ which resonates with me. Not just me but many on this platform would associate themselves with it. Click on the link to read through her poem.

Note from the Author
Copyright 2020 (All rights reserved)
Copying of the content and image is not permissible. The writers put in their souls in writing a piece of literature. A prior permission of the author of the blog is mandatory before using the content or the image (which has been created by the author of the blog).


noT thE onE

Not The One

Stealing a stare by strolling outside, wandering in search of satisfaction of not just the physical desire but eyes of a handsome stranger who would enjoy crossing my path every day and yet he will not be the one I would fall for.

Wavelength might match as the longing for a touch has stretched for a great length of time and summers claim for the exposure of the skin but still he will not be the one I would fall for.

Ears crave to listen to a handsome mouth speaking volumes about my beauty of not just the art but the dauntless structure strictly accomplished for the one who would embrace it completely but still he would not be the one I would fall for.

Know not who will hold the soft hands, caress the small lips, know myself without the questions but eyes reciprocating the life lived. Known to me will be my not waiting to kiss or confess.

by
Kritika

*Published on Medium:
https://medium.com/@undressedthoughts/not-waiting-ea3e531e78ca?source=friends_link&sk=588180c3a24da4b1deb05a5c26ce561f

*Image Credit: https://www.wallpaperflare.com/girl-photography-eye-blue-blue-eyes-woman-black-and-white-wallpaper-rryz/download/2880×1800

Note from the Author
Copyright 2020 (All rights reserved)
Copying of the content and image is not permissible. The writers put in their souls in writing a piece of literature. A prior permission of the author of the blog is mandatory before using the content or the image (which has been created by the author of the blog).