laugh, my laugh
and know the laughs,
cry my cry,
and feel the cries,
glance at the mirror,
with dark dull eyes,
which belong to me,
to watch your lips
curve for no reason.
crawl 'neath my skin,
and live for a day,
for only then you will hear it all,
all my heart has to say.

Not long ago, the writer of these lines,

in the mad pride of intellectuality,

maintained “the power of brain”- denied that ever

a thought arose within the human brain

that can’t be wiped away by the gales of time.

And now, as if in mockery of that boast,

a picture, painted with blurry brushstrokes,

much alike the façade of Aphrodite,

bathing in the moonlight fall of silver sparkle,

and dancing to the hymns of angels,

have exhumed a fire lost in squalls of,

distance and clocks and unvoiced passion .

Resurrected the yearn to burn in the flames

of Proclivity to glance at the seraphic vista.

Flared and charred I feel myself ashen,

and shivering.  My pen falls from stiff fingers,

and I stand at the fringe of the abyss,

with you at the bottom, and the sides

and at the start of the end and,

at the end of the start, it’s you all around

O’ I wish, somehow, I drowned.



Shekhar Suman

I
Wish
Morning
Mist finds way
Somehow inside the
Hourglass, once
Again
Now

“There is something about this breeze,

playful, calm and peaceful.

which tells you to be silent, feel

dance to the rustle, with steps graceful”



“for one more time, you feel your breath,

for one more time, you know you are alive.

for one more time, the music divine

sings in your ears, anecdote of thine”