When I close my eyes

 

When I close my eyes I see

A smiling face of me.

Maybe it is what I have

or, maybe it is something I hope to be.

Nonetheless, a smile on the face is what

we all hope to keep.

And when I open my eyes post that sight,

that smile somehow comes to me.

Therefore every time I long for a smile,

I close my eyes and just see.

I feel happy.

Old strings new tunes

In the deepest corner of my room

6 old strings stood from distant past.

It wasn’t an accident that I discovered

Something which was already there since the start.

Many fond memories ran like a reel

Inside the projector of my heart

And then suddenly I started to feel

As if a sin had been committed on my part.

Old tunes stopped and strings never reverberated

Because I gave up on them,

Fallacy got me distracted.

I gave up on them.

Music was lost after a while

And I had to fill that void with noise.

We never love something which is not our style

6 old strings were my choice.

But now I am back and they are still there

Waiting to be played.

With old strings and new tunes I today declare

Resumption of my parade.

Even in the loudest nights now,

My tunes shall not fade.

We always return to the place we belong. We always find the things which are meant for us. Even though we walk away from them, life gets us back to them and it is at that moment when we realise that it was all meant to be.

Nishant, The Poet and the Pen

Con-Text

I know life is not all proses and rhymes.

At times it just exclaims!

Every step carries a question,

And every paragraph has its own frame.

Somehow we never run out of conjunctions,

Neither do we run short of scenes.

And no matter how hard we try for perfection,

We mess things up with that punctuation in between.

Despite all this we believe in someone else’s writings.

Knowing deep down that we all are the same, human beings.

So why does this happen?

While most of us keep documenting our lives,

Some write a poem with their feelings.

Dear Ghost of Past

You never leave, do you?

And just stay somewhere out there.

Your presence becomes weak with time

But you don’t leave.

Thank you for not leaving

And reminding me of the gone.

Because of you, Dear Ghost of Past, I never stopped believing.

Stay with me until my work is done.

Pressing issues#3

Title: Panic Attacks

Do not take a panic attack lightly, it happens to the best of us and it can be detrimental. Take all the time you need and ask a friend to help you through it. Yes, talk to someone like a friend or a therapist or a family member. Don’t worry, we love you and want you to be alright.

Trust me, I know.

 

 

My voice has gone mute,

My hands are shaking.

There are tears in my eyes,

Panic is undertaking.

I can barely stand,

I can barely breathe,

Can you please hold my hand?

My pain is very deep.

Sight is failing me,

Memories are ailing me,

My strength is leaving me,

Oh god! I am barely me.

I am crying but there is no sound,

As if I am being drowned,

I don’t need words or anything profound,

Just hug me tightly and let silence be around.

 

8th day of the week

24*8

 

Just as the world never ceases to rotate,

For 7 days I will abide by my fate.

No more, no less.

 

But when the Sun will go down,

And Sunday will start to drown,

8th day shall come around.

 

And that shall be my day,

For 24 hours it will stay,

And fill me with hope.

 

There shall be no laws,

For what crimes shall I do alone?

8th day of the week, my own.

 

I will sip some tea and break bread,

Music will be played in the sky,

Deserted world will no longer be sad.

 

No words shall I utter,

To my mind shall I listen to.

On the 8th day of the week, I will meet you.

Why to write a Poem?

This Poem is a tutorial on “Why to write a Poem?”. In this Poem, I am going to let go of all that keeps me sane. It’s madness around this place people!!! Let me add some light hearted comedy and madness from my side as well.

Yes, I know that the world is going through a Tough time and I stand with you all. But, yes, BUT in this hour of worry, let me do what I can do… Take your mind off the sadness and concern for a moment and bring smile to your face (at least try to).

Anyway, just forget everything till you reach the last line and read it from a blank perspective.

 

 

Why to write a Poem?

Once I was walking through the Park,

Where I met, Mr. Jolly.

Mr. Jolly was happy because, in the Dark was Mr. Gloomy.

 

But then the Sun decided to shift, 

And reveal the existence of latter. 

My. Jolly’s smile took a drift upon seeing his terminator.

 

Both hated each other,

Each one ending other’s vacation.

Sons of the all mother, they were the balancers of every creation.

 

Ignorant of the novelty they refused to talk,

So I called a Poet to square things even.

In his own way he took them for a walk, rhyming helps to see what we believe in.

 

A Poem looks similar to all,

Yet is taken with different meanings,

Through rhymes we take your call, Poem strikes a balance between feelings.

चाहे जो भी हो

Just smile at the end of the day, that’s all. It’s that simple.

यह कहानी उसकी है जो कभी हारा नहीं,
एक ऐसा शख्स जिसे कोई समझ पाया नहीं.
यह किस्सा है उसका जो आज भी है कही,
कौन है और कहा है वह बात जरूरी नहीं.

कठिनाइया उसने भी बोहत है उठाई,
पर फिर भी चेहरे से हसी उसने नहीं गवाई.
हर रात तारो के सामने हुई उसकी सुनवाई,
पर वह सिर्फ मुस्कुराया, यह बात न समझ आई.

ऐसा नहीं है की उससे ज़िन्दगी ने घसीटा नहीं,
चोट उससे भी लगी, आंसू उसके भी बहे.
पर फिर भी वह उस रस्ते वापिस गया,
क्युकी उसकी मंज़िल वही थी कही.

यह कहानी उसकी है जो कभी हारा नहीं,
चाहे जो भी हो दिन के आखिर में वह मुस्कुराया कही.
क्युकी हार को उसने अपनाया ही नहीं,
उसने खुद को समझा क्युकी दुसरो को कोई समझ पाया नहीं.

Finding the lost

To all those who love to get lost and find something new about themselves, I urge you to get up and just take the road less travelled.

 

 

~A fellow traveller.