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

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

Roadblocks.

My story is stuck

on the point where

I pick up myself and leave.

My words are plucked

at the time

when I try to read.

My joy, my life,

and my sorrow

Every feeling

that I borrow

is more and more

incomplete.

My poems prose

is lost in your brows.

Love is a silent murmur

too faint to hear

too loud to deny.

Don’t ask me why ?

It’s the way things are.

But I got no luck

to get me through

and I wonder,

What comes next ?

Or I shall bring on

the words

poetry

prose

to a close

A lake of words

might be just

the most lovely song.

Who knows?

I will for now

carry on.

Words

I live only to write. words are my little soldiers.here is one dedicated to them words.

“Words,
Somehow
Make me,
Break me.

It’s words
Only
Which I
Have,
to Give you.

Just words
To remind
To rewind
To the days
When you
and me,
Were us.

To take,
To break,
To make.
You are
The Nox,
A look of
Your grace;
Can bless
My days.

And meet
Me once
Again
by my
pillow.
You see
It’s hard to
Sleep alone.

I am far
In the sky.
Like the moon
And you are the
Endless night.
I will pass by
Every night
Through you.
Till you
Until you
eclipse Me.”

And my heartiest thanks to my readers. Without you I am nothing. 

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

Whispers of Immortality

I have been lost since long,
trying to find my voice.
Caught between right and wrong.
Wondering if I had a choice !

Weaving dreams in darkness;
Alone, I was too silent.
None to fight in my loneliness,
it made me sharply violent.

My voice lost,
returned briefly in my words.
At a great cost,
I learned to fly like the birds.

Accustomed to suffering,
my adventures led me too far.
I didn’t know what I was becoming,
slowly, deep within I waged a war.

Been trying to find my voice,
drowned beneath the voices.
Been trying to make that choice,
found between the two choices.

I have bartered my emotions,
for experiences of suffering.
As a dried branch finally snaps
in a torrent of wuthering.

Chasing dreams in darkness,
I knew I had to stumble.
It was when I fell I found,
all my lost voices in a jumble.

Stumbling, falling, failing then rising,
perhaps I will return to normality.
It is the reason why I chose,
to converse in “whispers of immortality.”

– Mayank “Sahar” Mishra

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.