Introducing
Sandeep Kumar Mishra

 

 

The Books

 

Books are in restless wintery mood,

Their voices seem urgent,

What the books whisper

We prefer not to mention in social circles;

Yet they know more,

Have been where we can't go

In the clothes we wear;

They are unsettled, we are motionless,

Their voices are foreign to our ears,

They disdain, they will shake us off,

Too many voices, too many lost conversations;

When I open a page, fall into its frosty profundities

To sink like a stone, I talk in clichés;

They hover in time like bad omens

They flap wings; frantic pages cloud the sky;

They are the darkness in our bones

That keeps on sparkling like dead flames;

What struggles, they endure day, night!

Some books unopened stay to sight;

Books of some pasts have been scorched

Or may long live not a page turned, 

To die unread of ripe old age, 

Or by next generation earned, 

Yellowed, book-worms devoured in rage!

There’s a thing common - books or men, 

But a few significant can

Every book has its shining creed,

Which we fail to read and believe

 

 

 

 

 

My gallery has ended

 

In upper part of my body

A cognitive bell rings

From a dial-up connection of live wires;

The modem is working JUST

To repeatedly provide the facsimile of

Barren and bald paths;

Inner lumbering of daily freight

Coiling, clutching upward;

There is no vivacity

The vital force has parasited

How I inhale life?

My days and nights are bolted

Inside a brain cell,

My voice has held back;

Now it lays a plan to brawl my soul;

Residing in my own skull

It dictates notes imitating my tone,

If I could disintegrate my recall;

As my shadow has left me

There remains Just I, me and myself,

None is willing to be with me

Why is my brain, a black hole?

How could it not be a universe?

I have a constellation of migraine, tablets

Syringe, backache and insomnia,

Dream has become a dead pattern,

As worn out as fossil led glow;

Everything has become identical

Except the weight of consequence

That has variations of endurance;

As I go through perdition

My imbalance will be rectified,

And after allotted time

My gallery will end,

Then you can hang my art

And me on the wall

 

 

 

 

 

The Death of the Seas

 

My mental wire renders

Images of worn out routes,

After a short circuit happened

In the pathways of daily burdens;

My diseased body quiver with its weight

The hard stitch rubbles skin snatchers;

Leeched of life force

I have little energy to breath;

The voice I hear is not my own,

They dictate notes in familiar tone

 But full of foreign phrases,

Which they disguise as invitation;

I wish I could dissolve from memory

Or hide in my skull cave;

But it is not wise to stifle;

Then an unlearned laughter came

A spring emerging into sun rays

A river emerges from the death of the seas

There are two ways to live a life

I can pursue the difficult one

 

 

 

 

 

I Painted an Ocean      

 

I painted an ocean

But forgot the shore

There were no ships

When I took a close look,

It was my isolation

Sailing like the sea waves;

I searched alone for centuries

To add the travelers

In my voyage,

Still, singular I stand

On this mortal deck;

Need an island to anchor

When I call on a radio

It becomes silent monologue outward,

The reply comes from the resounding inside;

With every tsunami from the bosom of the core

I feel like conulariid without pearls;

Although I have vastness of Dead Sea

But no light house of life fervor

 

 

 

 

 

A Rainbow Memory

 

When my hollow present blows

The dying embers in the heart grate

A fond childish Cinders glows up;

The frozen black memory melts past colors,

A sparkle of rainbow recollections,

As I walk up on our trodden pavement

I saw a slash of sea between houses;

Thy red dress like a bright red boat

Sink in golden sand, blue fishing nets

Brown fort walls, green lichen beach;

My soul speaks, my lips moves

A frequency of meetings, a wave of hugs;

As I net to catch these moments

Like A street urchin’s yellow fists

Holding the rainbow in his tiny grasp

 

 

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