Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Nishant Mohan May 2015
Roamed, rode the road before, with the same air around,
Grouped with the same feeling but the journey this time was straight and found,
Fiery and feisty was the path that led to the shine,
I was on the path until I saw a shrine.

Met a man, without a name, with his head covered with snow,
I kept on wondering as to why he was carrying a glow.

Lived in the shrine around that holy road,
So far away from the rest that along many miles no one could be heard.

Took my time and stayed at the shrine for the night,
Unknown to what was there under his mighty plight,
Brought on to the table, the book, along with his pipe,
Kept a piece of bread, and sat along with his dignity and pride.

Picture this, old rusted, dusty, worned off,
Book was heavy but it carried a strange light.


Turned the page and found out was carrying my name,
With every single page carried my glory and fame,
Stored and lost in those pages, wandered,
Who was this old man, and what is this shrine I started to wonder.

Moved on to every page and found out the turn of events,
Till I reach the page which told about the old man , his shrine and waited for a further advent,
The pages were blank, fresh, waiting to be written,
Confused and bound, I must be mistaken.

The old man stood up, gave me keys and said,
I’m the One, who doesn't belong here,
I write the rules, those which I never share’.

For it was time to march forward,
Because he had to write what I was supposed to do and moved on.
Returned back on the same old road to find a sign,
“He was never here”
Carrying a smile, Roamed, rode the road before, with the same air around,
Nishant Mohan Apr 2015
Shinning disco *****, the glowing blood, fired up adrenaline,
Flying the bird high in the sky, with ray ban, with a Marlboro,
He was no spy,
He was the silent debater with a million wings to fly.

Falling slowly and feebly into the ditch made by you for yourself,
Forever walking with the same speed and a will to never grow beyond that rusted shelf,
Safely to and for the ground stayed tied and glued not a move a skin,
Unknown to the body, the soul is now a rock and the body is unlinked akin,

Feverish, the road led him to this day, to this stage, feeble drifts, and lost all,
Oh stranger, miser or the wiser, you alone have got to be the fighter,
Bring out your best to arrange for a feast,
Greet us with the charm you won in the battle fought against the beast,

The beginning till the end, the narrow to the broad, come may whatever you have raised the cup,
The solo act, the fine performance, and the live stage you have lit up,
All for one and none for the one, the point you’ve made has been registered,
Don't forget the times for the many gatherings you have anchored.
Nishant Mohan May 2015
Marching ants, vibrant sunflowers, flowing waves of birds,
Everything was not as complex as a flock of herds,
Life was never that easy as it is hasty,
The flow of events turned out to be nasty.

Spilled coffee on the teak,
Life was flowing at its maximum peak,
Movement of every single entity around me,
Could feel the flow of every drop of blood gushing through thee.

Burst car tyres, bent rim, shattered glasses,
Life flashed in front of me in few moments,
Mind has lost its synchronization with the brain,
Things have slowly started flowing down the drain.

Teardrops, like the perennial raindrops was a sight,
Life was turning, running like a turbulent flight,
Dropped the coffee mug, shattered, scattered,
Kept everything every second of the spent life aside.

Marched forward away from the abnormalities of those formalities,
Far away in those jungles high above without any tragedies,
The smile was back in those peaceful surroundings,
Missing was NOW the hustle bustle tangled bounding’s.

End was near, not yet close but not so far either,
Torn clothes were better than the ripped soul I had,
Puzzle was complete so was the destiny's marching orders,
It could have been easy if those sane moments could've been pondered.
Nishant Mohan May 2015
He enters the door, waiting for her flesh to come,
Drops the glass and grabs hard to the core,
Unruffled her hair and lifts her up and close,
Unhook the blouse, and baby my body is all yours,

Deep, too deep you penetrate the soul of my skin,
Everything turns upside and you rock my world,
Something starts and something climbs up inside,
Pain, no pain, it’s all gain from these well-furnished sins.

Stranger in no eyes, you and me, crawled up like a snake,
Time for break, let’s try something else,
Been running over each other on the same grounds,
I love the way you pounce and makes me create new found sounds,

Fire, oomph, nirvana, you reach the ultimate moment breathless,
Wish I could pull over every skin of mine over you and give you unfound pleasures,
Rubbing against you, the friction, the force, I am drop dead,
Catch me please I have no energy left, just do it once more and help me spread.
Nishant Mohan May 2015
No matter the apple is ripe it is bitter in the end,
Tinkles of wine on the forehead and the mood is in swing my friend,
Love is in the air, the nerves are ever so pumped,
The innocent, heart, the true never knew of the later grindings,

Fragilities hit upon the tree birch and the leaves fell,
On to the grass trying to rot under the shadows of entrusted love,
Kept lying around the seeds of the fallen fruits around the well,
Shattered to the core like the fluttered wings of the dove,

Heavy price paid, to shed off the burdens sailing in the salted emotions,
Cushioned the pins thrusted promised to handle covered by hard earned situations,
Snap of the finger and the promise to live and die, ended too soon,
Unnoticed it went, deemed as mistake, deliberate the actions you were the fool,

Could feel the sweetness on the tongue, unable to handle its effects,
There were a few roses left in the garden, all had come with some or the other defects,
No room for rush at the bottom of the cliff, too crowded with the bodies,
Wish you had kept things pure and not landed in the state of sorries.
Nishant Mohan Apr 2015
From the first drop of the hot shower,
To the last sip of the wine,
She feels the senses in her body,
Chilling, running down the spine.

She runs down the hallway, wraps him in her arms,
They plunge in the darkness of their fire,
The divine kiss spreads their wings,
Burnt every ounce of energy in the body, they breathe back.

Morning, and she wakes up alone,
Looks up, everywhere, only to find her clothes thrown,
Snorts up her last stuff,
And another day passes, waiting for another one to come.
Nishant Mohan Apr 2015
Rain drops scatter my imaginations around the blades of the windmill,
They slowly churn away the wind as they sway away under their flawless motion,
The drops trickle down the blades as a magical potion,
These small prisms spread themselves throughout the greens as a free will.

Blends under the shadow of the trees,
Those finest dried leaves those are free,
Crushed under the finest whispers of laughter,
They find themselves deep beneath the graves of thee dead.

Undone by his deeds, found a way to freedom,
Broke those chains to move him away from the boredom,
Wandered to new horizons in search for new sensations
He had a motive to fulfill his life's frustrations

Sleep deprived, rumbling, rustling walking alone in the streets,
Was a man, with no desire, desire for success,
Under the ever moving sky was his never moving head down,
Just to find those crushed leaves bringing them back to the ground.

Anonymously carried himself through the hustle of the towns
Realized beneath the shade of the happiness there were many convincing frowns
Simplified his emotions to meet the needs of the protest,
Walking down those materialistic streets was just like a test

Surreal yet it may seem, deemed as crazy by the rest,
His demeanor was as hard as a rock,
For the miles forged under his feet he had to bear many shocks
Closure, without the joy or pain, he painted his road to his identity

The final destiny, the final moment, magical
Yet it may seem, was his final frontier, yet so simple
Utopia, his elixir of life, which he kept searching for,
Happiness and sorrow kept burdening him all the way along,
Yet he found a way to move on and on and on.......

— The End —