Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Bibek Jun 2018

Please visit the site for more of my creations
Bibek Sep 2017
If my words could buy,
Someone like you,
I would deeply chew,
Over words to write more often,

If the words, I speak,
Were the ones you were fond of,
Then all of the words I pick,
Would hover around your beauty,
Like the bees flooding the garden,
With their 'hummmmms'

But, to my dismay
To you, my words are wierd
To you, my speech is a low gust
That couldn't influence your flowers into moving

That is why I write so less about you,
For my poetry, that I so dearly caress,
Might not be so poetic, for you to embrace
Follow me on wattpad
Bibek Oct 2017
Finding the cold warm
I snuggle deep into the snow
The flakes of which lie and grow
With each passing moment the momentum grows
My lamentation grows and my heart
The one as cold as ice shows
Though not from within me
From everywhere for each flake of snow is where my heart resembles its cold white glow
All about the dark sides
Bibek Oct 2017
People often fear the nights,
That give them dreams
Shortly secure
Bibek Aug 2017
Eat me up, will you?
For your love will be eating me bit by bit
Till there is nothing left of me to keep
Like the darkness falling
Failing to cling to existance
In the brilliance of the day
But I wont fall like darkness
I might fail, not fall
Each of your words drug me into thinking
You've been loving me without blinking
But I have come to realize
It is just a stare dark and cold
A sign that you
Loving me dear my life is being sold
To you
A poem on the venoms of loving and not being loved, caring but not being cared after
Bibek Oct 2017
Father, I remember
Back when I was in the kindergarten
Back when I used to ride your back

I remember filling my timidly tender hands,
With a handful of love for you
And today,
I see my hands empty,
With my emptied hands,
And your eyes filled,
I realize, that I have grown different,
From you
I wish to learn more from him,
Give him back the worlds of love that he lent me
Bibek Jan 2018
It travels up my spine
My blood seems to skyrocket
Hammering my head violently
This feeling, I can't accept
Nor can I abuse it,
It seems to dry out my instincts
And fill the puddles with regrets of action
A poem about fear of the past actions.
Bibek Aug 2017
How can I possibly forget
Your presence
When your head always is on my chest
When you are a family for my heart
And not just a guest
Bibek Oct 2017
Honesty, my friend used to say,
Needs to be pushed,
Dishonesty pushes you,

While his words were handsome,
As much as he,
I dared to reject it,
Though it was in my head already

The sink never fills,
For each rejected drop runs away
Like honesty place at bay
By people, who once were humored in life,
And you helped,

Now they are dishonest,
They are to you,
Cannines you treated, that bit
But you to them,
Are a beautiful cause to life
And a product of their art of dishonesty
A poem under the lights of betryal
Bibek Nov 2017
Revenge itches, where love never reaches,
It itches in the shared cups,                          
                in the shared beds
                in the shared bodies,
But never, in the shared hearts,
For these days, they are not shared

All love is today,
Is a folkdance in a folkworld,
With folks one will never truly love,
But pretend to be loving, Living
How lively!

The roads, the parks, the brothels,
All flood with bodies, not souls
For the vessels are empty,
staring at each other's empty faces,
Prizing empty words to one another,
And mocking anybody different,
How lively!

And in such fragrance too,
Some bear to protest,
The lively call them dead,
In which case, dying is more beautiful
To every human existence that points out the vague fullness and life in it
Bibek Oct 2017
I have been alone,
How alone you ask?

So alone,
Even the tears flowed away,
Bearing disapproval to my state

So alone,
That my lungs haven't been polished for years,
With breath shared by a beautiful soul

The windows, they stare at their own scars
The old doors, go either way to closure,
The torn roofs welcome the rain
But the drops fill spaces,
   Not hearts
Suicidal thoughts on being alone and feeling the non living
Bibek Aug 2017
A comfortable bed, with the fine touch of feathers,

The warmth of heaven, where my body would meander,

I could dream of anything, anything at all
Of beauty, of lust, of bliss, of all
Of happiness I have always wanted to clasp
But with these worn-out hands, povery is all I can grasp

I can dream of nature, that is wishing to pass through me
Of the tying clouds, with each turn turning gloomy

My hands can wrap over all of the flowers
Each of their petal, with my touch in delight
But with my shattered eyes, all I can give them is fright

Only in my sleep, I become a dreamer
While I am awake, I feel worse than the reaper

My scent disgusts even the winds
That break upon me
Like my shattered dreams

And though my dreams and my comforts are all in a nap
The stale street and its cold is all I can have
A poem on poverty and a person's resentment over his conditions
What the society thinks of him and what he thinks of himself
Bibek Oct 2017
It is obvious that you wouldn't like her
Her eyes wouldn't shine for anyone but me...
About love
Bibek Oct 2017
I drink delightfully the cold,
Like the wine, some centuries old
Bibek Oct 2017
She speaks to me, the cold,
In the teeth that clatter,
In the glasses that shatter,
From her blows

The cold reaches me,
I can understand what she says,
She whispers chills,
Into my skin, and it stays,
Until it reaches my heart,

Then suddenly, she blows out
Whispering again, into my ears,
That my heart is colder than her,
Reaching there is what she fears,
Feel like i am driven from something dark
Bibek Aug 2017
The lights, they play beautifully
Upon the canvas of the horizon sinking wholly
In the blend of twilight
The city afar only seen as colourful dots
Bleaching the eyes with lots
And lots of colours that are still
But moving in the artful manifestation of the waters

Everything that matters
The heaven,the clouds, even the still lights
Are conveyed to my sight
And I as an alien figure judge their might
For I can never be one of them
A poem on a extravagance of the foreign and the feeling of an outcast
Bibek Sep 2017
I knew not of the world I was living in,
the existance here, as bleak as the mourning clouds,
Trolled by the heavens, and hell alike,
This living, is worthless

Where once flowed the river
Where once blowed the peaceful air
Is now dead
Not as dead though, as the people living there

So as destiny pours stammers on our way
Let everything be done, as they may
I watch the blunders curl
As I pretend to live in this worthless world!
This one for the longing for peace, both outside and the inside for the within is more tender than the skin

— The End —