The Diary

The festive lights through which she runs away from him after ruining his hair, does the reflection of the lamps on her beautiful face which compliments her smile, makes him feel butterflies in his tummy. Does she suddenly disappears? Oh wait, did someone pull him from behind? And yes it's her pretty eyes which dive deep into his, and make their love pure, like every time. She surely has a miraculous aura which she carries with her red saree. From the collar, does she pull him closer to her and smile like she has everything in her life, or maybe he feels like that lady makes his life meaningful than ever? And wait, does she give him a purpose to be what he is, and make him feel more than just a particle in this big universe? 

How the black in her eyes, dissolve perfectly with the hazel brown of his pupils. Is she all what he puts in his diary, every night after she makes his shy soul laugh out loud in the quiet night? She definitely does. The ship which sails through the blues of love, it's her care which he feels while smiling to every picture his phone carries and the love which she felt every time she looked at her infinitely. 

She surely feels his arms around her neck while being miles apart, and maybe there's a reason he stays up till 1 to spill his heart on the paper every night, to let her know how her beauteous face always annoyed his heart, and made his eyes moist.

Ordinary Day

(I just penned down a normal day of my busy life, while sitting in the classroom)

I was running late for the school that day. The butter which was sliced and applied has melted and the pores of the white bread has absorbed every bit of saltiness of the fresh, yellow butter due to the increased heat waves these days.

Today, I kept my hair open because I loved the way they are naturally curled, and I didn't want myself to ruin them. They were looking pretty, so I didn't felt the need to pick my hairbrush and run it through them. I picked up the bag and left my home in the hope that today it will be a bit happening than before. The hinges of the old, red vintage door used to sound a bit sad, maybe that's only something what I felt!

I was on the second last story of 'falling in love again' by Ruskin Bond. It has the collection of all the romantic stories I love, as a romantic writer. Sometimes, I doubt my heart that where all did this affection came from? I never received it. Was my heart curated that way, or just because it survived the worst?

And now the voice of Natalie struck my ears, and this string of thoughts broke when she asked me about my IT assignment, which I completed last night with the flask of black coffee. The project was really hectic. 

But I entered the class, and my eyes unwillingly were searching for someone, besides I didn't want to, but still they did...

My eyes were restless,

And yet my heart, 

Never got a chance to spill,

But, beats with the same frequency, still...

~ Shreshtha Verma

The Treasure Box

Last September, 

I made some memories 

Sugar-coated, just some happy memories

And here I am, keeping them safe,

in this treasure box.

Maybe I won't have you till my last breath,

Or if you will stand beside my grave,

No matter what will be happening next,

But I still remember, and I still treasure,

And here I am, keeping it safe,

in this treasure box.

To every place we spent those sunsets together,

I just have a huge smile when I walk by.

Looking up the stars again,

And here I am, keeping the memories safe,

in this treasure box.

Our universe might just have 'crossed',

Some in these Polaroids,

And some in my poems.

And here I am, keeping our 'OLD US' safe,

in this treasure box.

~ Shreshtha Verma