I am unravelling myself
In Between events
Intercepting time and space
Unaware of my own
I am revealing myself
To myself in a mirror
And I find the reflection
Mystical in myriad ways
I am unknown
While I am knowing
That understanding
Is layered in time
In between events
Of absolutely
No importance!
~ sahar
– sahar
– sahar
I once thought of love as a prison,
– Alabama
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
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 endures
My 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 much
It 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 such
Then, 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 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.
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.
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.
Whispers of Immortality 