Smile and Sadness

When you are all alone

And once in a while,

A candid thought or

A nostalgic feeling

Curves your lips up

That’s the best smile

And

When you are happy

Amidst a crackling laugh

Little pearls roll down the eye

You do both, laugh and cry

Trust me in all this madness

That’s the best form of sadness

  • Sahar

Time Again

There is no stopping time

No turning back or

Jumping ahead the needles

There is no stocking

No transferring of it.

It is yours if you

simply relate to it

Else it simply adds

To the wistful moments

We called life

Tick-tock as the clock

Unleashes end in

Every beginning of

This new moment.

To feel time again

Rising from death

Embrace dark space

And time is real again

  • sahar

Who We Are.

We are mean machines
Captured consciousness
Chaotic, disrupted presences
Vying for belonging
Living on in hopelessness
In a familiar strangeness
Above all, Death is relentless
And dying is not lifelessness.

We are measured extremes,
trying so hard to balance
our lives in weightlessness,
scrounging by on emotions
breaking our meditation,
trusting in faithlessness.
Universe is indefiniteness
boundaries are absurdness.

We are poised river streams,
flowing in chosen directions,
Living and dying to meet
oceans and then fall as rain.
Meandering by, a tamelessness
an epitome of abstractness.
We live as she lives by
a journey of ambitiousness.

We are forgotten dreams
in an eye of imagitiveness
it is discovering nuances
with a look of ancientness.
It is only right to wake up
experience anonymousness
remembering the dreams
live moments of breathlessness.

– sahar
photograph by sahar

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.

Reality

Reality
to me is the
Dream of a madman
A door to escape
illusions and avoid
Imagination.

Reality
to me is the stone
on the road
to your dreams
it just impedes.

Reality
to me is the truth
only relative
and always
unreal.

Reality
to me is the
sight beyond sights
A landscape beyond
capturing.

Reality
to me is light
and darkness combined.
Subtle and yet
magical.

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

Multiverse

I have seen a
universe of universes,
and a universe of universes
of universes too.

Forgive me if I am
a bit repetitive,
cause I have been through
that cycle too.

They say life is a circle,
it is rather a sphere,
infinities among zeroes
vibrations intersecting everywhere.

you should move on
like I did,
and I am sure you too
will end up somewhere.

It works as
means of extremes.
peacefully laying
down its schemes.

We are little instances
echoes of reminiscences
miniature models
in the grandest themes.
we are nothing but
simply light beams.

we are fair and just
like the stardust
swinging away in space
I am the fading face.

I wonder why ?
my song is sad
my poetry is lonely
my words are mad.

I call it a dark night.
there is no need
to seek the light.
for now darkness shall lead
you to discover its secrets
until the sun rises.

The Girl of my Poems 

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 dawn

The 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.

Charles Bukowski

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
God

for 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
backwards

I am a broken
banjo

I am a telephone wire
strung up in
Toledo, Ohio

I 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

Finish It.

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.