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

Sunglancers

As a young boy,

I used to look at the sun,

with eyes wide open,

I stared at its burns.

I tried to fight,

the burning sensation in my eyes.

After a short while,

I had to close my eyes.

I couldn’t even face it,

let alone stare.

I realized somehow,

things are not fair.

Man is powerless

but beyond the limits of body,

mind is infinite and limitless.

It doesn’t need,

a burning sun to impress.

Nurture the mind

capture the world.

And then one day

you shall face the sun.

 

-sahar (Mayank Mishra)

What I do ?

What I do is,
I step into a stranger’s shoes,
and walk along finding the clues.
I see, I hear and talk like him
I be him, am him, belong to him.
He may be painter, a soldier or a killer,
I have been both pious and sinner.
I see through your eye,
The same ground the same sky.
But wrought with perceptions of my own,
Things I see, to you I have shown.
Strung in the harmony of words,
I will narrate you the chirping of birds
Like crackling of galaxies, a herd of herds.
Drop the honeyed sun in the ocean
Or set upon entire worlds in motion.

What I do,
Is I speak a language,
of a universal syntax.
Please do correct me if I am lax,
I do not mean to impose,
I just don’t talk in prose.
If you are looking for patterns,
You won’t find any.
There is not one but one too many.
I simply plough in the mind field,
some times sowing ,others slashing.
Seeds in the corners of the unknown minds.
Shall they grow up to be a labyrinth ?
Or remain just seeds.
How much of what I say is true ?
It is all up to you.

What I do is,
I reflect you in my lines.
Read your life in between them,
In one I have lived many lives.
I like to shuffle between them.
Moving between you I study you.
Unknown, I live among you.
Long after I am gone and my bones are interred.
My verses shall be read, my songs sung, my poetry heard.
I shine in your dreamy eyes.
I reveal the truth behind your lies.
What I do is I read, not books.
But smile,frowns,faces and looks.

What I do is,
I bend the rules.
Even make them break them.
Sometimes I have to remake them.
My characters are real,
the scenes and my experiences.
The sights are really surreal.
A lot of wrong turns, not mere events.
In the pitch dark night.
I will describe the light
For you I will shine bright.
Is what I do !

– sahar

the featured picture is a copyright of ©Prabal Pandey , a professional photographer and traveller. you can see his photo album at https://m.flickr.com/#/photos/prabalpandey/

Game of Nature

page11.png

© Mayank Mishra

Page designed in Corel Draw by Mayank Mishra

Poem ‘Game of Nature’ written by Mayank Mishra

in the pic Mayank Misha,

PC: Aakash Singh Sengar

 

Ode to Nature

How the seasons change?
With them the colours,
the trees,the animals and the skies.

How the days and nights go on?
In an eternal cycle.
Melting into each other.

In the day the sun,
replenishing ,re-energising,brings light.

The evening,
a canvas of colours blending.
Masterpieces of nature emerging.

Then the night falls
and swiftly comes the band of stars,
lead by the moon.
The clouds hiding it
and sometimes giving it away.
A game,a sort of child’s play.

How the wind blows?
Carrying on its wings,
the message of rain,
which arrives soon
hidden within clouds,
which burst open,
stabbed by thunders.

How the snow falls?
Like little stars falling from sky,
only they remained so little.
Melting at a finger’s touch

How the time moves?
Ever so silently,
yet announcing itself aloud
Centuries,decades,years,months,weeks and days
and their hours and minutes,
passing away into tiny seconds.
every moment ticking away,
leaving change behind it.

How beautiful the universe is?
Never could it be captured in words,
no matter how deeply they are written.
For it can only be seen and felt,
with two eyes and a heart,
which is one with it.