pushpanjay kumar

pushpanjay kumar Mar 30

The sun, he burns with golden fire,
A king upon his throne so dire.
He lights the world, he warms the land,
Yet holds no love within his hand.

He chases night but never stays,
Forever lost in endless days.
He dreams of rest, of cooling shade,
But must endure the light he made.

A fiery crown, a lonely fate,
Bound to shine and never wait.
For though he glows, though bright he beams,
The sun still hides his secret dreams.

pushpanjay kumar Mar 30

The Wind’s Forgotten Song

The wind, she sings a song so low,
A melody no one seems to know.
She dances through the ancient trees,
A whisper lost upon the breeze.

She touches rivers, wakes the sand,
A fleeting kiss, a wandering hand.
She murmurs love to waves so high,
Then fades before they say goodbye.

No place to rest, no home, no name,
She drifts, yet never stays the same.
A ghost of sound, a fleeting tone,
Forever singing—yet alone.

pushpanjay kumar Mar 30

The Stars That Never Speak

The stars, they shimmer, cold and bright,
Scattered pearls in endless night.
They watch the world in quiet grace,
Yet never leave their timeless place.

They hold the wishes lovers make,
The silent dreams that hearts forsake.
A thousand whispers, soft and deep,
But locked in space, they never speak.

They burn, they glow, they live, they die,
Yet never ask the question—why?
For all their beauty, all their gleam,
They are but ghosts of light unseen.

pushpanjay kumar Mar 29

Whispers of an Abandoned Library

Dust settles like forgotten dreams,
Among the shelves, torn at the seams.
A book lies open, its pages worn,
Its whispers soft, its words forlorn.

The echoes of a time once bright,
Now hidden in the absent light.
Spines once straight, now bent and frayed,
Stories lost, yet still they stay.

But listen close, if you dare,
The books still breathe, their voices rare.
For every tale, though left unread,
Still lingers in the words unsaid.

pushpanjay kumar Mar 29

The Last Leaf on the Tree

Alone it clings, the autumn’s last,
A whisper from the seasons past.
Its golden veins, so frail, so thin,
Yet fighting hard against the wind.

The branches bare, its friends all gone,
Yet it refuses to move on.
It holds its breath, defies the fall,
A silent warrior standing tall.

For though the winter calls its name,
It burns with life—a tiny flame.
A final stand, a last decree,
The soul of hope, the last leaf on the tree.

pushpanjay kumar Mar 29

A City That Never Sleeps

Neon veins pulse through the night,
Streets alive with buzzing light.
Footsteps echo, laughter sings,
A city built on endless dreams.

Cars rush by in hurried streams,
Honking horns replace our dreams.
Billboards flash with hollow smiles,
A world that thrives in neon miles.

But in the alleys, hush and deep,
Soft sighs of those who fail to keep
The pace this city dares demand—
Lost between the lights and land.

pushpanjay kumar Mar 29

The Silent Conversations of the Moon

The moon, she watches, soft and wise,
A silver guardian in the skies.
She hums to the waves, a lullaby deep,
Singing the ocean into sleep.

She whispers to lovers beneath her light,
Guiding lost souls through the night.
She listens to dreams, secrets untold,
Carving their stories in shimmered gold.

Yet, though she glows with patient grace,
She longs to touch, to leave her place.
A lonely queen in midnight’s tune,
Forever bound—a silent moon.