Poetry is not an easy task. It is like learning to beat the storm when you are stuck in its eye.
“And one night
When he and she were fast asleep
Their hearts armed with love
Gathered upon a pact to keep
Their bet on who loved harder
His heart talked till tire
Hers was a silent desire
Slowly the return to the start
When she was all fire
And he, only a silent desire
On the way back, the two humbled hearts
Forgot the way
And now
Hers beats in him
and his inside her.”– sahar
Category: life
-
No comments on Lost Hearts
-
“Among few things there is no binding,no divisions, neither any surroundingLife is round , so is the world,So went the last year in roundingMeasured quantities of sharp emotionswith discontent and hued notions.Becoming more mechanic each day.I survive and dine on potions..it all went, it all then came…There was happiness, there was painWhat stayed was the worthless moment,passed away often in vain !wisdom arrived disguised in experiences,cruel and striking at the heart,taking away each timea part of me cut apart.The raging past reminds me againto redeem that which was lostTo rise and walk againand bury the sins of the past.”– Mayank ‘sahar’ Mishra -

The flow of my poetry is such
It always wonders to the source
Of words and the feelings which
Governs them.The genesis of a stream of thought
Behind from her smiling eyes wrought
With thundering emotions and
Acceptance of errors.The midlife begins to describe
The deeper wedges driven into this heart
As poetry ages and matures
A thousand sufferings it enduresMy poetry is sublime and eternal
Flowing from a deep valley
Soaring to the mountains
A flood of emotions it entails
The flow of poetry is not muchIt stops with the thoughtlessness
And the thoughts about which it had all been
They are born and killed for you every moment.creator: Sahar.
-

“If one day,
your thoughts are free
then don’t stop amigo
be all you want to be.If one day,
all your emotions,stand
in your way then
master them today.If one day,
your pen bleeds like humans.
know this , your words
they only suffer your deeds.If one day,
you write too much,
and write all your heart out
as all my days are suchThen, do not let your poetry
lack words or alphabets
for they are only tools
and poets are only fools.”– Mayank “Sahar” Mishra
-

There is a girl who gives me poems
In the night or early morning
I hear her silent whisper
Calling my soul away from
The night to the lovely dawnThe girl she gives me my poems
She is a distant dream
No phrases can match her
No metaphors or similes
Let her float in the skies
For another eerie night
The girl with the words of my poems
Her magic is violent
A collision of galaxies
Like my thoughts are dust
Her breath is the light in stars
The poet in me is free as
Her touch varies in degrees
The girl like the words of my poems
She left me no rule to follow
Making and unmaking me again
A silent trail of woven words
Like petals strewn on the roads
To the palace where she rests
A path the poet must take always She is the girl of my poems. -
I am glad I met him, as one poet who meets another.
For The Foxes
don’t feel sorry for me.
I am a competent,
satisfied human being.
be sorry for the others
who
fidget
complain
who
constantly
rearrange their
lives
like
furniture.
juggling mates
and
attitudes
their
confusion is
constant
and it will
touch
whoever they
deal with.
beware of them:one of their
key words is
“love.”
and beware those who
only take
instructions from their
Godfor they have
failed completely to live their own
lives.
don’t feel sorry for me
because I am alone
for even
at the most terrible
moments
humor
is my
companion.I am a dog walking
backwardsI am a broken
banjoI am a telephone wire
strung up in
Toledo, OhioI am a man
eating a meal
this night
in the month of
September.put your sympathy
aside.they say
water held up
Christ:
to come
through
you better be
nearly as
lucky.- Charles Bukowski
-

You left me too explicit in love
Vulnerable to all its stormy nights
Stuck in a dream, shipwrecked.
But you too are implicit and will be
Wrought beneath my words
Like crushed fragrance of a flower
I will paint you in my poems
And skip the dream for real
Making you the meaning
My words would have died
Leaving behind
An unfinished poem…
….Leaving behind
All those stories we made together
All those thoughts shared
I was left with
An unconditional love and lots of memories.
-

It’s just a start, things will drag on to far fetched destination..
we will walk on and cross realms beyond imagination…
Everyday asking the universe for a new relation..
we will walk long roads trotting in hesitation..
balking on banks on the road to perdition..
Till the road diverges again, breaking the tradition..
No blind beliefs, no sheep walk and no representation.
Burying past and luck, walk with me and defy predestination…
-

As the car sped on the highway.
My thoughts
Sitting on the back seat.
I was new,
reflected in the asphalt.
Blinking lights, dancing shadows.
My body, Feeble with fatigue
Twirling between,
My fingers, laying on my palm
The tiny packet
Like a ball of snow.
I was cold, the wind
Blew on my face, everything.
Giving me signs.
The packet kept twirling
The white powder
Wrapped in black tape
A one night stand,
With cocaine.- Author Unknown
-

She loved a shadow,
a shade, a dark fighter in a glade
All out of focus and fade.
He was a mirage lurking to vanish
A dream unsynced out of a wish
He was too willing to surrender
A laughter too old to remember
So far out beneath the thunder
He meditates silentlyShe loved a perception
A procedural deception
A situation came after
When he took no laughter
In his words or deeds
And he never cared about tomorrow
And always spoke of sorrow.
Of joys there was no need
To several pretends he rarely paid heedShe loved unreal things
She made it possible, her offerings.
She chose him and he, her
That imagination came first
And everything else after.
He played little roles
Worked towards little goals.
Getting closer every day
Being gentle every way.However the darkness shall hold on
Even when she and him are gone
Long after, the same story shall be retold.
The legends die after they become old.
He saved her from the darkness
By bearing it all inside
Just seek and hide
He looked in her eyes
She looked beneath the liesHe was the end of fear and anger
She was the beginning of something beautiful
He was the end of desires and stranger
She was the very definition of being dutiful.