Soaking Wet

The rain, the brisk,
those puddles and the mist,
held her there.
Soaking wet,
she reached to you with
her thoughts, her dreams to share
and
her little stories to tell.
Moving a little closer,
she let you in.
So just maybe,
there must be something
more to you.
A little more than
the warmth she looked for,
alone,
soaking wet,
in the middle of the night,
held by
the rain, the brisk
and
the puddles and the mist.

Ishita Bhatia

email: ishitabhatia18@gmail.com

Instagram: _occultatum__

Her sweet love

“Someday you will find yourself in the midst of
these untold pages
these bits of papers
and these myriad unsent letters.”

These were the exact words she picked and
in this exact manner she decided to put her words together, on the first page, of the very first diary, given to her by him.
Her. Sweet. Love.
She wrote him something, everyday. She wrote something about him, everyday. She kept filling up those pages, she kept emptying her heart and she kept on feeding her mind with his thoughts, his stories, with her words and with her love for him.
Her. Sweet. Love.
Years went by with
the same pen, the same diary, the same thoughts, for the same him.
Her. Sweet. Love.
See the thing was, she knew him too much, too well
and that little diary, knew her too little, too less.
And here is how and why and where
she lost herself to him,
in those untold pages
those bits of papers
and those myriad unsent letters.

Ishita Bhatia

email: ishitabhatia18@gmail.com

Instagram: _occultatum__

Norwegian Wood

Second week

The bed is undone and cold.
The paned window still is closed.

Fourth week

The door left unlocked, again.
Old bad habits you see.
The key is still under
that silly pot,
as it was
two months ago.

Fifth week

Guess will have to
clean it up.
The mess on my bed.
I left his untouched
and waited for him to come back
so he could tell me
what a great job i have done,
in all, without him.

Sixth week

The posters,
The stick-ons,
The pictures,
that I hated
and still do, well
I left them there,
couldn’t take them down.
Because I know Storm would be mad,
when he’ll be back.

Seventh week

Met Miles,
“Storm has left the dorm.”
I was told.
Couldn’t question why,
didn’t wonder when.
Went back to
my dorm
and suddenly it hit me,
maybe I wouldn’t mind
him waking me up
six in the morning, again.
Maybe I would mind
a dorm,
less like home.

© 2019 _occultatum_ blogunseen.com

Norwegian Wood

Naoko smiled and left
the meadow
while he just stood there, with a smile.

“Where could have she disappeared?”,
he asked himself.

He was afraid,
afraid to fall.
He was told,
told to stick
along with her,
with Naoko.
Because then
“.. I won’t fall in, either.”
he remembered,
he remembers.

And there
he slipped silently
in love with her
as he ambled.

© 2019 _occultatum_ blogunseen.com

A Verse Tried #9

It’s been
quite many quieter nights, for
good many weeks now
and still here I am
somehow,
scribbling your name
on yet another page
and
looking for you
in yet another lane.
It’s been
quite many
quieter times
for great many
days and weeks and years, now.
And because here I am
I know now, sometimes
you just can’t
unlove some people, somehow.

© 2019 _occultatum_ blogunseen.com

Are we too far?

Here,
miles away yet
leering over
the same sea
the same sun,
waiting for it to set.
Are we too far?
I’d say.
There,
a little sand on your face
a little on your hands, while
mine is
still clear
mine are
still empty.
Are we too far?
I’d say.
There,
a letter
sent out in a bottle
by dint of the sea.
Here,
I’m waiting,
for it is yet to
be answered
or perhaps,
for it is yet to
be uncovered.
Are we too far?
I’d say.
There,
one letter
another text
a second month
one more smile
is missed.
Are we too far?
I’d say.

© 2019 _occultatum_ blogunseen.com