The Lit Sky

By Khushi Singh

Sitting under the lit sky
While holding my weak hand,
Your eyes shined with protracted rays
Of enlivened spirits,
Trying to vanquish
My pesky soul.

You stroked your hand
In my labyrinth of malignant thoughts.
Untangling each situation,
With love and care.

Hearsays didn’t matter to you,
As you knew my story which was the least popular— The Truth
You faced the fusillade of questions,
As a forthright ally while matching your steps
With mine during the dark nights.

You bore my pain as yours,
With a great fortitude
Fighting the ephemeral battles,
With the faulty souls.

Sitting under the lit sky,
While holding my weak hand.
We promised ourselves,
To stay by each others’ sides
Till infinity.

Khushi Singh, a high-school student, is a reader by day and writer by the night, who tells story through poetry.

The Wait

By Khushi Singh

The door to the heart
Is still left ajar,
In the hope that there will be shine,
In the dark skies.

The never-ending nights,
Are still sleepless.
Hoping for lullabies,
From an altruistic soul.
To get a sound nap,
Far away from the crestfallen world.

The beat inside is still barricaded,
From the mesmerising rhythm.
Trying to barge,
The poignant past.

The boulevards are still lifeless,
Waiting for a wayfarer.
To solve the labyrinth,
Of the pesky journey.

The stars in the great dark sky are still waiting,
For an enlivened energy.
To fathom them,
Into constellations.

Khushi Singh, a high-school student, is a reader by day and writer by the night, who tells story through poetry.