Writertalks - Vanshika Singh
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More Posts from Writertalks
The moon complained, like it always did, about how I spent my day mourning over the loss that may not fit into the definition of loss few days later.
I could only look on, guilty and mesmerized. A little defensive too. Mourning is my right. But a little too much mourning is probably radiating off to the moon, my most favourite guy on earth.
-Vanshika Singh
Sky or the canvas?
"Why the sky refuses,
to lose its colour,
get bleached,
and portray what our hearts feel?
Isn't this a betrayal,
on her part,
to refuse us the luxury,
to display our hearts to the world,
and drown itself in our misery?
Why it has to be so unbothered,
uncaring,
and bring new mornings each day,
making us stand out in the happy looking world?"
"How many hearts must she have?
Before she can feel ya cry?
And how many deaths must she die,
to show your blood on the sky?
Sometimes, your hearts want to laugh till they cry,
Sometimes, your hearts want to lay down and die.
One sky is common for countless of hearts,
Ain't she no illusion, no imagination of arts,
that she will look a mysterious mess of paints,
And like a lovely mother, hear each of yours complaints!"
-Vanshika
