a ghost kisses the inside of my wrists
as i reach toward the sky i feel ribs under my fingers
the moon is lovely tonight and id love to spend more time with her

I'm so done with you
I won't be your number two
Once your weak and frail
I'll chew up your bones
And spit them back out

I want to hear your screams
I want to see your pool of blood
I want to see you crying
I want you dead

Nature is incomprehensible to your sidewalk mind
Structures with no name are merely that to you
Wet ground is a fairytale to you
Not the sensation you feel taste and smell on a Sunday

i thought for once that forgetting you
was the hardest thing i will ever do
little did i know that going back
to the way i used to be
before you came
will be harder
that i am still here
trying

I've heard many poets wish for a grand death.
One where the waves of the sea
knock the living breath from their pipes.
Or where a hurricane
sweeps them off their feet.

Maybe I'm a little different
from other poets.

It isn't the chaos of the earth that calls me.
It has always been the inviting quiet,
and her sultry eyes
beckoning arms
and sweet lies.

Because I often find myself thinking
about how grand it would be
to fall asleep peacefully
in a bed in a sunny meadow
no eager tics or mosquitos
preying on me.

Maybe with a few flower buds
to bloom and greet me when I wake up.

Did I lie to you?...
Or did you lie to me?...
Did we both lie?...
It does not matter, really...
At the end is just the same...
We blew it...
And that is no lie...
That is the truth...

The World's Sanity
Will be their Calamity.
As The Flow Of Nature
That Came to be Looked
As Absurd Irrationality.
For The Great Mystery
Of All that will ever be
Can only be seen
When desire ceases.

she must have been 50
Katz was her name
now that,  was a dame

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love."
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."

On a calm afternoon, a fox caught her heart
This beautiful fox was wild and not tamed
But in an instant she fell in love with it
She then planned to tame the fox

She approached it ever so gently
It was in the field basking under the rays of the sun
The fox sat there so majestic
And it bewitched her more

She sat beside the fox and said a promise no one could forget
"I'll tame you my fox, with my time and consistency you will be mine"
With all sincerity she have said that
And she plans to keep this promise until the earth crumbles

The fox agreed and held on to the sweet promise of hers
With all her love she will do anything for the fox to be tamed
No hearts will be broken and no tears will escape the eyes
For she took her promise seriously and it will not be shattered

In the morning of yesterday
There were strangers talking in my garden, heads close together
Intent on each other, in whispers
I heard them say your name
And the earth shifted a little...the season moved forward a little
And I heard myself sigh like a dreamer

Harvesting hearts and marigolds
The thief steals in when we least expect it, masqued and lithe
Wanting an exploration of Souls
Oblivious, if we’re generous
But still the knife cuts deeply...the blade turns without intention
And I’m bleeding out like a Madrigal

I loved you too much in the Mirrorfall
I found you in the violin’s shadow
Dust and star tears are my witnesses
I love you
My joy and my abyss

Modern vaccinations, fear of germs and obsession with hygiene are depriving the immune system of the information input upon which it is dependent. This fails to maintain the correct cytokine balance and fine-tune T-cell regulation, and may lead to increased incidences of allergies and autoimmune diseases. If humans continue to deprive their immune systems of the input to which evolution has adapted it, it may be necessary to devise ways of replacing it artificially. – Rook GA, Stanford JL Dept of Bacteriology, UCL Medical School, London, UK.

Nothing is as lonesome as the night.
The stars are burning dim,
As the whipporwill calls.
A tear streaks my face,
as his call tears my heart.
As the weight of the moon,
Presses me down to the earth.,
I cry out for help,
With a voice that makes no sound.
The weight of the world,
Keeps me pressed to the ground.
The crickets chirp,
And,
The tree frogs sing.
And above it all,
I hear the whipporwills.....
Plaintive call

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

So many poems
and stories
have gone unwritten
due to fear of not being good enough

i drift along the web aetherized and soporific
my torpor tenuous and temporal i stumble
upon a ripple that grows unraveling
and i revel in its unraveling gyre
as its descent enriches in the morning light
delight in my dreaming drenching

I brought her to the hospital
And I know she is in pain
She says she’ll die today
But I know she’d sustain.

As painful it may be
As fearsome it may seem
My legs are shaking deep inside
I can hear her Scream.

You’d say I can’t feel the pain
She says its life threatening
I believe she’ll do it well
This moment of awakening.

The Doctor consoles her gently
The nurses prepare the room
My heart beats fast, yet sinks a bit
My baby is about to bloom.

I watch the process in silence
My heart is aching slow
The Doctor asks her to push
Our Child will make Her Glow.

Its a Girl and She’s beautiful
I heard the Doctor say
Everyone knows I cried
Saying Happy Mothers’ Day!!


Prashant Shaurya ©

All Rights Reserved
06/05/2021

P.S: I wrote this in the labor room while watching my wife give birth to our Daughter. It took me about 5 to 7 minutes to write till the second last stanza. I wrote the last stanza after seeing my newborn baby. My Daughter is my Universe!!

If there comes a time
that you might lose me
Find me in my poetry

Even when I'm lost,
I come back here,
to these pages,

I tell them about you; my love,
about me; my lust,
write down my thoughts; my loss,

so even when I'm gone,
you can always,
find me in these pages,

hear my cries; my tears,
share my lies; my fears,
feel my love; my dear.

You are the abundance of stars only visible to the dreamer in the wake of night

The sun and its companions as they glow to shine a light on the surface of your skin

You are the mischief that forms the toothy grin on the face of a child’s curiosity

The everlasting glow on their faces as they question the world around them

And I am lost in translation, confused, amused and somewhat enchanted

To you I am the clouds that hide away your blue skies

But to me I am the ones that shield you from the glare of a jealous sun

And to each other we are foreign, bordered and misunderstood

Lost in translation I’m waiting for you to understand ,
That to you; you’re nothing, but to me; you’re my dreamland

Of course, you can go
But I don't want you to
Of course, I don't have to know
But I feel I really do
Of course, we don't have to talk
But I will fall apart
Of course, I will let you walk
But it will crush my heart