Moonwater

Where the night pours its light

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  • Moment of grace.

    by

    Storm has arrived.

    Ice rain carrying the sharp wind

    from the north,

    my skin finally easing

    into the dark season,

    my snow-eyes on the black skies,

    an opening of light —

    there God speaks.

    Vaishali Paliwal

    November 26, 2025

  • If time didn’t exist, would grief be a different cop?

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    Time’s measure is without meaning here,
    in this loneliest of the room,
    the ages of your absence weigh on me
    so heavy,
    but without a unit everything is more.

    You are gone now, you are gone.

    Grief keeps interrogating me
    without a measuring cup.

    Do you understand the weight of this dawn?

    This room without gravity
    churning my soul,
    even your mysterious rearrival
    will not save me now.

    Vaishali Paliwal

    November 26, 2025

  • Companions across times.

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    Dear red cardinal bird beauty,

    I saw you return to my temporary window, my eternal tree.
    The leaves are leaving but not sad.
    The sun has vanished but not away.

    These mysteries you sing of, tell me more.
    Tell me my predicaments are farce,
    that I am your confidante time after time.

    Leave me a twig you carried through ages.
    I am building a nest for us.
    I am saving our songs.

    Vaishali Paliwal

    November 25, 2025

  • My white gown is brown.

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    Yes, there was this sweet orange light.
    It had decided to fall on the lands of the poetess.

    She had departed.

    Light was reliving her footsteps.
    Light was pulling me into a myth.
    I was drinking its juice.

    There was a notebook in my hand.
    My feet were of mud.

    Vaishali Paliwal

    November 24, 2025

  • The softest beautiful light.

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    Who are your current most favorite people?

    People standing at the world’s frayed edges, carrying small lanterns of hope into places swallowed by impossible darkness.


    They remind us that tenderness is not fragile.It is force.


    That compassion can outlive cruelty.


    That forgiveness can rebuild what fear dismantles.


    And that the softest hands often hold the greatest strength.

  • I am imagining you building a castle for me brick by brick.

    by

    A lone bird wears the purple silk of the sunset sky.

    Legend goes she keeps circling for centuries that cannot be counted.

    A new mystic from the western seas arrived today. Drew a map to the beautiful castle within. Read a poem written by ancient landscapes.

    Crescent moons—seven—rising
    over my leafless trees,
    record the hours without clocks.

    I move barefoot between household and hermitage.

    Vaishali Paliwal

    November 23, 2025

  • Soft bird lives inside the tiger skin.

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    What are your favorite animals?

    The creature surrendering and
    unsurrendering,
    inside the tight king skin,
    a restless sun of eternal peace—
    a contradictory poem:
    a favorite animal.
    Teeth of memory,
    softly rewriting the old violence.
    Can you be gentle?

    Vaishali Paliwal

  • Rise.

    by

    Look, the night is ripe.
    The candle will not speak its name.
    A mystic will tell her story without words.

    Somewhere, somehow,
    you will remember—
    the river-storm running through you.

  • No despair.

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    The church bell pays its ode to the pink skies. An unknown bird crosses the dusk.

    I wish I had something tender to give you now, some remnant of hope.

    But the mind has its own world, one far from the flight of that unseen bird.

    I will write a longer poem next time. I will hold both,

    the bird’s sky, the world’s mind.

  • I can hold you still.

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    God’s flower hardened into stone.

    These sharp edges have wounded me.

    🪷

    But have they?

    Can they?

    🪷

    From the soft seat of witnessing,
    the petals will open.

    🪷

    She will be fragrant,

    like always.

    🪷