By Vishu Mishra
Through my open window I look,
Reminiscence of past, nostalgia overtook.
I then surrender, overflowing this Ink.
This feeling that binds me, I shiver off.
I melt through pages, I stirred.
With years and years passing by, I regret.
It burns inside, somewhere deep within me.
Search and search, I tire.
Phrases by phrases, with poetic satires.
I write it, yet no more I desire.
Silently a drop, a tear atmost .
And a heated breathe choke.
Trying and trying, I breathe.
But now no more.
My trying times, my wisdom provokes.
Most ordinary pen and a leather cover,
I express to these pages like a silent lover.
Some merrily recite, some silently read.
Yet no one points, the mistakes I repeat.
I shall play with words, I am a word mincer.
& I do, & I do, I restrain & repeat.
This skill burdens me, I write.
Subconscience murders me, I tried.
Satisfied, I compensate.
Unspoken words, what should have been said.
Repulsively, I dictate.
Then I murder it, I mistake.
Every dream, coffins away the time.
I object, I deny, I rhyme.
Poet's a fool, captures time.
Expressed on paper, a fool's bring.
These figure of speeches, yet look so fine.
My ability to courage, I sin.
Shall portray an iceberg, it's so cold.
Papers beneath my leather cover, untold.
And I sit beside my learning tree,
Another fool alike, shall un-breathe,
Make me free.
Sitting beside my open window.
I see, I hear, I feel, I breathe.
Unspoken should have spoken words,
Timely now, untimely be.
They recite & recite,
That I must write free.
Scared of this thought, I decided to leave.
These silent walls mock me,
I unlock the door, I begin away to walk me.
This open window shivers me.
I shall cowardice with my leather cover.
I am fool, awaiting a fool.
A silent lover.