Drift On !

For some, it’s a song.
For some, poetry.
For others, just words.
Or nothing, meaningless.
And meaningful.
My words know not,
formats and rules.
They flow like dust,
from denuded runes.
Slowly drifting,
directionless.
Lost in an ocean of,
thoughtfulness.
Struggling among
multiple identities.
Surviving their source,
my words just flow.

No tags, no tag lines.
No rhythm and no rhyme.
My words are,
an essence of experiences,
the verdict of my crimes.
Feel bad, feel good.
Feel pleasure or anguish.
Feel the depth or the high skies.
Feel the truth hidden beneath lies.
It is a Journey of words,
a labyrinth of consciousness.
I implore you, do not share this road,
for you must make your own.
Watch from afar,
and when you are done,
drift on and wander.
Just like my words.

Do not! 

Featured photograph is an artwork ©Prabal Pandey, the link to his pictures is here http://www.flickr.com/prabalpandey

Do not.

Don’t believe in my words
And neither in the proverbs
Experiences of others’ lives
For me they are all half-lies
If you can, then find your own
Calling, that will take you to the Unknown

Don’t give in to the pressure
Or to the soft praises in the air.
Try not to be bamboozled
Forget all you have heard.
Dive deepest, climb the highest.
If still unsatisfied, keep on the quest.

Don’t trust in luck and quotes
They are just asymptotes
Fine lines, near and far
If you can, find love in war.
Stray off, wander away.
In the safety of risks, make your way.

Do not follow blindly
Always, keep questioning silently
Keep alive the child inside
For he knows little
He is you in becoming
The core of your mettle

Do not walk my path
For it may not be your own
Don’t think my thoughts
Don’t carry my loan
Don’t read this poem
Go write your own.

-Mayank Mishra (sahar)

Time.

Time is a fascinating concept
Growing with us, on us.
Like a great controller
Adjusting things, making changes.
Rolling the dice,it shifts characters
In and out of life and death.
We are so believing in it’s game
that we measure our lives with it.
Past and future are non existent.
You never see them come and
You never see them go.
It’s our own creation that keeps us busy.
Our own ‘time’ that haunts us.
First man learnt to measure a day
Then came hours,minutes and it went on.
Can’t you see we are all racing
equipped with rocket fuels and roaring engines
we are bound for sure destruction.
While man will always be caught
between past and future.
I will let you in on a secret.
There is only one time
and that is now and
it will always be so.

A Realization

As life rolled by
It took me long enough
to realize
I was only looking
not observing.
Hearing and not listening.
Clear as light
now looks the world.
I hear and I hear myself
When I speak !
Curtains lifted
The stage now
looks clear and true.
Ignorance was a bliss
but knowledge
prevailing made me
understand bliss.

I am.

I am not the broken star

 Which falls solitary at night. 

Nor the black sky, 

Which craves for light. 

I do not belong
to this majestic world, 

I am but a lonely bird. 

 I am not the falling rain 

which regrets, why it fell in disdain. 

I am not the lovely rose. 

With pleasure,
which fills people’s nose. 

I am but the tender wine. 

Slipping upon a shiny lipline. 

 I am not the gushing wind. 

Nor I am the surging breeze 

I am your deepest thoughts. 

Not the drenching rain, 

But I am all that draughts. 

 I am not a helping hand
Nor a shoulder to cry on 

but I am that fainting light
which blinks far far away
and says to ‘go on !’ 

 I am not your last desire
neither hope nor a fire 

I am but a speckle, a splinter
Which shall never retire 

Burning brightly though small 

this is what I am
and that is all. 

 

Posted from WordPress for Android by Mayank Mishra (mayank.mishra@stu.upes.ac.in)

Silence of a Martyr.

Ruins and ruins 
Is all I see,
officers, brothers,
enemies and friends alike.
Who did we die for ?
The more i watch.
The more i realize.
Petty issues got dragged too far
and here i stand in a WAR

Cries and shrieks
the bombed bridge creaks
Every bullet for every ounce of flesh speaks,
I just hit the target.
didn’t differ enemy or friend i bet
If any how this all could get better
you would not be reading the silence of a martyr.

My old gun is smoked and burning
I lost another brother round that turning.
Heard him fall down that aisle.
Oh,how i just want to tell him
That i could do nothing for him
if i would, the next bullet would be waiting for me.

And all i feel is sorrow and regret
thats how a martyr’s life ends
garland twice a year on the grave.
thats how they salute the brave
how i wish i could tell my mother “I am here”
if only ! then you wouldn’t be reading the silence of a martyr.

Wounds have now stopped to pain,
oh lord ! how much i wish the rain!
to splutter on my lips.
And drain it all away.
the rivers of blood
to the Holy Gange.

the medals still shine
through the drops of tear and rent.
they fake a smile in vain
but i know they are dying in pain.
there is no victory or defeat.
Just red and dead on the street.

right or wrong is left behind
it isn’t about righteousness at all
its only about those who fall
you cant survive a war,
cause even if you get enough far.
it will haunt you all your life.
at the end of the day
battlefield is painted red in colour.
this is why , you are reading the silence of a martyr.

Posted from WordPress for Android by Mayank Mishra (mayank.mishra@stu.upes.ac.in)

The Place to be.

Is there a place to be ?
Where I can be free !
Of the multitudes of colors.
Beyond the grip of rumours,
Indulging in sharp boundary
Between love and treachary.
There must be some reason
Amidst this poisonous treason.
For all I can remember,
Is a burning pyre
And above it, the black smoke
Of my burning dreams rose
To the point of desperation
I was madly driven.
But I collided.
And now I am wondering,
Is there a place to be..?
Still I dream again.