The moon so big
it lights up the snowflakes like crystals—
confirming the answered prayer.
A saint-body walks through
without footsteps,
without old clothes.
Every known form of matter dissolves.
Here the ecstatic phenomenon slips
beyond all shapes.
A red rose
of Mother
grows.
Vaishali Paliwal
A dark winter and deer-steps on snow so white,
there is enough light.
There is enough magic in this night
to make new worlds—
love and heaven, peace and grace.
Lush meadow by an eastern sea, unknown, keeps calling.
A hermit brother reads the poems.
There is a place possible— a place of divine design uninterrupted.
How the story of origin was intended.
Without doubt and shame,
we can be the finest creatures,
lovely birds remembering hymns.
Sleepy sea hums,
and stars drift through.
A mystic writes this world.
A mystic makes this blue,
deep turquoise blue—
these dreams of sweet waters,
quiet heavens,
god is here—
my heart is the queen of the meadow,
goddess of harvests and suns,
wild winds and sea shores.
Vaishali Paliwal
Streaks of gray clouds and winter vines talk to the waning moon.
A river so wild moves in me—
so thundering as she crashes against the rocks.
Is there a soft turn other than the tear born of collisions?
Vaishali Paliwal
“The heart is the inner face of your life. The human journey drives to make this inner face beautiful. It is here that love gathers within you. Love is absolutely vital for a human life. For love alone can awaken what is divine within you. . . When you learn to love and to let your self be loved, you come home to the hearth of your own spirit. You are warmed and sheltered.” — John O’ Donohue
Heart opens, and a river of light begins to pour in.
In a story of two travelers, there is violence, the old cruelty of a desert and its men. Yet there is also a fragment of the travelers crossing a river together. One saving another. Their soaked bodies emerging on the far bank, breathless, shivering, eyes meeting in a moment, the shared sight, the relief.
Love is all there is. It destroys the pain and the trauma. It is quiet and mad. It saves the poorest in me. Let it find you again and again.
I have tasted the water of the sombre gray lake. Its darkest secrets are mine.
The sea-bird breathing thin ice-air sings a song of the meadows far away.
Someone there keeps a thread, a woman without a face, with hands of earth,
deep deep her voice when she says a prayer and she calls my name.
Vaishali Paliwal
November 29, 2025
So vast is this sea,
and in it, this endless search—
and us, the sea-gulls,
braving every winter
without choice,
searching for what
we do not know.
It is not just food.
It is not just God.
Something else
is the wind of
these inquirers,
these returners
chasing storms.
Vaishali Paliwal
November 29, 2025
how many storms it took
to fill
this lake of winter,
a bird slow in flight
against the wind—
how many times
has she tried to cross
the orange light on the horizon,
what message will she leave?
my heart should be free by now;
still it sinks in water,
staring at the ceiling,
thinking of that lonely bird
pushing the world’s breath aside.
Vaishali Paliwal
November 28, 2025
In the forest of my heart,
snow is falling now.
Footsteps of the three sacred travelers
make a path I trace.
It is beyond the story of sacrifice
everyone remembers.
It is the sweet love untouched—
the perfection of my beloved.
Vaishali Paliwal
November 27, 2025
Moonwater 