whenever I get a comment or a like I always look at that person's profile and sometimes read truly poetic writes. Here is one such write

Shekhar Suman

It's shadows that I like
They walk with me, when there is light
And when darkness raps but loud and clear
I sit down and write, so that you can hear

thank you Shekhar

Not that it comes not so oft,
Lifting my spirits in process aloft,
And takes me for a whirl, awhile
O’ thou lovely, shy, smile.

And then comes the ice,
In your stare so vice.
I shudder for a while, recoil
my spirits, as always, get mixed with soil.

-Shekhar Suman

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