Nidhi Katoch blog

Today, I went to the other side of hill,  Where I saw you for the first time and my will to wait for you strengthened, I listened to the nightingale, in that early hour of dawn, The spring in the mountains  are about to begin, which is accompanied by the winter and followed by the summer, which is celebrated by the bold sun and the bad weather. My heart sank thinking  about the small span of spring, A butterfly flew by my hair, spreading its colorful wings, And placed its feet on the dandelion flower,  Which you had placed on my hair,  and promised to comeback. Today passed the one more year of yearning and contemplation, my yearning heart  and sobbing passion. When the sun arises from the east, I plucked the dandelion  and dressed my hair, I went back home believing our fate.

I'm lying silently  under the moon, by the river, The agitating flow of water  like my inflamed heart, eager to go ahead and far,  Far where there would be confluence  of courses of two rivers, hence with the double strength, It would move ahead, Leaving behind the serene hills and plains, all small streams and drains. Sometimes nurturing,  Sometimes destroying, It seems that it stops for no one, Neither for the moon nor for the sun. Ultimately it reaches to the sea where it evaporates in to clouds, and flies freely over the hills, to melt on a day to again become  a spring, river and sea. The sun is about to rise,  Birds are coming out of nests, I'll carry on my expedition with a promise to come back, Come back, after meeting my sea!

In the early hour of morn,  the sun and moon share the same sky, Like the lovers in the same room. Far apart, But meet regularly, Can't touch but  see each other merrily. ~Video Call

When the sun departs and embraces the dusk, The marigold of my heart  withers, with all its petals crushed. With every passing hour,  The flame in me is diminishing, In the dead of night, nightbird wails, Fireflies flicker as if mocking. I'm looking for my sun who is lost in this gloom, When the heavenly rays fall, I rejoice and bloom.

I listened to the slow cries,  But in this darkness I could not see, Enraging tones turned morose, Surly squeals of my known, Made my ears bleed. Throbbing pain of broken mirror, Roaring rain and lost in scruples, Who was innocent! Who was sinner! 

In a far land of love Wind writes a prose,  In a garden of devotion, There's a white rose. Who waits for little black butterfly, From the dawn to dusk, Nights are full of cries, Fall is about to come,  White rose had turned pale, Soon there will be snow And the winter's hail.  Spring brings back the  Butterfly to the place, But that white rose Now rests in solace.