Poetic Chaos

Often, in my lone wanderings
As an observer of crude life
I found myself without bearings
Crossroads on the road to strife

I was buried deeper by society
Partaking in social events
I donned new faces and acts
Shuffling roles between pretends

Fed slowly the poison of taste
Gulped down by the wine divine
I summoned the satan in a haste
Told him ‘the pleasures are thine’

I grew by the fire and read
Myself in the shifting flames
Earning me, myself, a bread
While a while engaging in games.

In my lone wanderings
I often did realize
Speak and hear of it no more
To live and write shall be wise.

Love up to you.  

While I slip by 

Your jousty curves 

And your silver pearls 

I will fall in 

With your straight eyebrows. 

I will give in 

To your soft touch. 

If you stop me 

By your hurtful moan 

I will be your wolf 

You be my moon. 

While I erase 

Your older deeds 

Give me new sins 

To remember you by. 

While I condense 

This time to you 

You give me my 

Moments of eternity. 

I never entail 

What your feet cover 

I only wander 

In the sense of your hair 

It’s shining 

Her skin is fair. 

If I stole 

A look from you 

Glance me all day 

While I glance you. 

Through your night shades 

Give me your dusk 

Since the morning of love

Till the night of lust. 

If I divide 

In the line of your curves 

And seldom appear 

In the curve when you smile 

Consider this 

It takes a while to live up to you. 

A Man Without Perspective 

I am just a man.
A man without perspective.
I accept or reject nothing
I just see the collective.
Everything is connected.
It’s all relative.

But why should I explain,
Myself to you?
I don’t subscribe
To beliefs or like stuff.
You’ll never know
What I go through.

I have no name, no caste
I’m a godless man
My canvas is vast, and
deep like the oceans.
The definitions, I despise
I am wise, other wise.

I don’t exist in one place,
Neither am I lost on one desire.
Not taking part in any race.
Nor is my thirst,quenching of a fire.
I live as a face of many face.
Feeding a curiosity that’ll never retire.

And I choose all of this
Because I clearly see
The flaws of our language
the way we communicate.
It’s a distortion of meanings
Murder of experiences

Interpretations
misinterpretations.
It is total annihilation
Of something which begins
As a pure thought.
But ends on naught.

It is a task in futility
To teach peace
In a world of violence
I can only spread it.
I choose to remain silent
Live on as the man
Without perspective.

  • Mayank ‘Sahar’ Mishra

The Look Back.

Among few things there is no binding,
no divisions, neither any surrounding
Life is round , so is the world,
So went the last year in rounding
Measured quantities of sharp emotions
with 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 pain
What stayed was the worthless moment,
passed away often in vain !
wisdom arrived disguised in experiences,
cruel and striking at the heart,
taking away each time 
a part of me cut apart.
The raging past reminds me again
to redeem that which was lost
To rise and walk again
and bury the sins of the past.”
                        – Mayank ‘sahar’ Mishra

A Poem for Poems

“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 such

Then, do not let your poetry
lack words or alphabets
for they are only tools
and poets are only fools.”

 

 – Mayank “Sahar” Mishra

The Blind Magician

He was a trickster
A true master of slight.
The perfect conjurer,
A star shining too bright.

As he moved around the stage
His shiny black robes flowed
The crowd watched him in a daze
At his will,space bent and time slowed.

His art was fantastic
And the presentation surreal
When he did something drastic.
Crowd believed the magic was real.

They thought he could fly
And wondered aloud in amazement.
As he disappeared in the sky
And returned from the basement.

One day a trick went wrong
And no one was wise
But only the magician knew
He had lost his eyes.

The magician survived
In his own dark world
Kept pulling out of his sleeves
A bird after bird.

He did each trick perfectly
Even though he could not see it.
He felt each of his audience
Even though he could not be it.

There was only one trick,
that the magician knew.
That they all see,
but observers are few.

– © Mayank “Sahar” Mishra 2016

Kannappa the Stout Devout

Featured image/artwork borrowed from Google.

Kannappa_nayanar

 

Kannappa – The Stout Devout

 

He became one of the sixty-three

Nayanmars, the stout devouts of Shiva.

A hunter from the banks of Kalahasti,

Kannappa a hunter, a devout, a giver.

 

One day while on his hunt,

he found a stone divine,

put all his faith in it,

leaving everything aside.

 

Kannappa’s God was his friend,

for whom he carried water in his mouth.

And shared what he hunted

with a caring heart.

 

Lord accepted it all,

but one day , to test his faith,

Shook the earth,

the temple collapsing under its weight.

 

When all priests ran out to save their lives,

Kannappa ran for what lay inside,

He covered it with his body,

the falling stones littered aside.

 

One day he saw the lord’s eye bleed,

so he took out his own to fix it.

When the second eye started to bleed,

he marked the bleeding eye with his foot

and set upon pulling out his own.

 

The story goes, he attained nirvana

Stayed in bliss day and night.

Kannappa had met Shiva

and all was now set right.

 

 

 

for knowing the whole episode in detail please visit https://ourdharma.wordpress.com/2009/02/13/203/ .