A CYNOSURE OF ENGLISH POEMS
WHY? WHY?
WHY?
For false, fleeting praise?
Oh!
The glaze of the days
At
nights never stays!
What
is there in the flesh?
How
frenetic to embrace!
A
lovely hellish place
That
swindles by dress.
Why
dost thou crave
In
the bank pelf save?
Wilt
catch away the Knave
While
thou art in grave.
Why
a queue for power,
Strife,
for muggy mire?
Being
obscene, blunt and bare
Wilt
thou descend from the stair.
Why
thou dost nurture ire
Indulge
in haze, mirage and care?
Yea’
nobody will share
What
thou sowest in the layer.
Why
is then temptation
Enmeshed
by delusion?
Freedom
from illusion
Wilt
bring thee blithe salvation.
[This poem
is taken from the poet’s Anthology “A CYNOSURE OF ENGLISH POEMS.”
2.MIRAGE
HUNT
The irresistible thirst of
carnal hunt
Ever ignites the savage
hunter to prey
And quench his obsession
blunt;
The more he runs the
more does he bray
As the hunt itself moves
away to taunt
Befool and teach the
poor pursuer to sway
In the hallucinative
heaven of shadow to daunt,
And inhabit the realm,
real and blissful, not far away!
3. MUMBAI
Mumbai:-the
economic cynosure of the country
Feeds
crores of stomachs of Its thickly thronged plateau
And
those of countless adjacent to the remotest places,
Draws
concourse every fraction of a moment towards It!
“No
less than a rotten carcass to the greedy, gluttonous
Beasts,
flies , ants and insects and those who relish and live on it,”
Who
like those non humans howl, growl, screech, buzz, yell and yelp
Over
grabbing a sound share by whatever pranks they can apply.
The
local train commuters here are of two types-
The
first ones are hot, suffocated vadas of the so-called Mumbai Pav
And
the second are the haughty, doughty and naughty kangaroo youngs,
No
sooner does the day dawn than It starts blaring like a tempest
Spewing
like a volcano and besmearing the air like a T.B. patient,
Still
none quits it! Sometimes It chuckles for a cosmopolitan haven,
But
often sighs for being misused for its naivety and munificence
And
beseeches to God to pay a favourable heed to Its helplessness.
` 4.
DON’T ASK
Don’t
ask the scintillating Moon
How
much love It has for you;
Have
patience and watch,
How
much light It borrows for you.
Don’t
ask the refulgent Sun
How
much love It has for you;
Have
patience and watch,
How
much light and warmth It pours you.
Don’t
ask a mass of firm stone
How
much love it has for you;
Have
patience and watch,
How
strong a peg it offers to support you.
Don’t
ask a little, petite lamp
How
much love it has for you;
Have
patience and watch,
How
long it burns to dispel darkness for you.
Don’t
ask a benevolent book
How
much love it has for you;
Have
patience and watch,
How
much wit it gifts to remove gloom from you.
Don’t
ask life rendering water
How
much love it has for you;
Have
patience and watch,
How
much it quenches thirst of you.
Don’t
ask a spontaneous shower
How
much love it has for you;
Have
patience and watch,
How
much greenery it breeds for you.
Don’t
ask a versatile tree
How
much love it has for you;
Have
patience and watch,
How
many bounteous boons it offers you.
Don’t
ask a tender blossom
How
much love it has for you;
Have
patience and watch,
How
much nectar it carries for you.
Don’t
ask a altruistic mate
How
much love it has for you;
Have
patience and watch,
How
often he stakes himself to save you.
Don’t
ask an illuminating Teacher
How
much love he has for you;
Have
patience and watch,
How
much he instills to make you one among the few.
Don’t
ask your incomparable Mother
How
much love She has for you;
Have
patience and watch,
How
often can She die to immortalize you.
Don’t
ask yourself you
How
much love you have for you;
Have
patience and watch,
How
fair a path you tread to liberate you.
Don’t
ask anyone/thing hence
How
much loved you always are,
For,
love lies not in expression
But,
in realization, you will, at length, concur.
@Shankar
D Mishra 16.12.2016
5.
SKIN
Is
this same obtrusive skin
That did
once glossily shine
Did play
seductive pantomimes
Did recite
unheard impulsive rhymes:
To excite
irrational passion
To ignite
swerving emotion
To ramify
riotous revolution
To register
drastic devolution
To kindle
rash equine sensation
To dwindle
the sweet, solacing salvation?
But, why
does it now fail
When rugged,
withered and frail:
As odious as
an ugly reptile slough
As
disdainful as a dead, decomposed claw
To retain
the past mesmerizing magic
To withstand
Nature’s fool proof logic;
Alas! It now
succumbs to dejection and decadence
Forced to
flee in quest of an unobtrusive bushy fence?
©Shankar D
Mishra 10.02.2017
6.
WHAT IS USE
THEN?
O’God! The
omnipotent- present-scient
When Thou
art within
It is
recognised as a descent useful soul
And the
moment thou art evanescent
It is no
longer considered a soul human;
Only a stuff
useless, pale and abominable
Foul odour
instead of rational scent comes
Perishes all
glaze, glamour and glorious entity
Away leaving
a mere carcass!
But alas!
Mind itself does hardly reconcile
In spite of
millions of instances
Indolent to
divine bliss, to irrational revel suscepective
Advertently
plays rather the vile
Slackens at
length liberation chances
What is then
use of being wise, trim and speculative?
7. CONQUEST
OVER DEFEAT
Can a scared
canoe surpass high tides
A daunted dog
prey if it hides?
A fierce
fighter fizzle out in the fight
A
persevevant be divested out of day light?
When
perspiring a thousand times down falls
A
tiny heavy ant to ascend upon the precipitous walls,
Yet
injects its self aplomb in each vein with fortitude
Ascents
and descents and vice versa persist to a multitude;
But
all its endeavours bear smiles of fructification
To
chant: “The perseverant become triumphant in the long run.”
A
sanguine diver dips in the deep ocean
Though
very often hollow handed he returns,
Yet
wax his verves his fleet, fragile failures
Invite
the fathomless water to quest rare pearls;
But
frequents not he back with sordid, sullen fists
To
chant: “The perseverant aren’t damped by deterrent mists.”
Failure
is a taunting challenge, take it soon on
To
detect thy defects and diagnose be ever prone,
Shun
thy slumber unless the ultimate goal is got
Desert
not the kurukshetra until the debacle is fought;
To
chant: “Eulogy trumpets blow not sine any floral feet
And
the steady persevevant compel defeat bow at their feet.”
8.
BEAUTY’S
GLORIFICATION
Why
wilt thou flinch
To
glorify what is Beautiful,
As
it belongs to thee not?
Phew!
It is the way of the ignoble.
Thou
needst not search a shrine
To
plaudit God by trudging there;
If
thou canst keep unenvious eyes open
To
see real Beauty and proclaim, He is near.
Don’t
mistake It for any personal acquisition:
It
is the lotus petal-His bounteous phenomenon,
It
is special, unadulterated, undying only its own
Belong
to none-albeit a source of inspiration like the Sun.
Let’s
then relinquish, renounce rancorous discrimination
And
chant Beauty’s Glorification to fetch emancipation.
©Shankar D Mishra
11 .03.2017
Email id: shankardmishrapoet@mail.com
Dear, revered friends, if u like my poems, please
visit my Timeline to enjoy many more new poems of different tastes. Thank u.
A CHILDREN DAY’S GIFT
O’
the curled buds of the imminent future
Get
ready to come out of the gravid stems
Await
the nourishing rays of the knowledge sun
And
become soon as the earth tree’s dazzling diadems.
Don’t get
either deterred or dispirited
Owing to the
trying trials of the adverse climate,
They are the
necessary encumbrances for your weal
To help you
swing like pendant apples early or late.
But
anticipate not to be sweet, delicious
Absorbing
sine heat, rain, cold-the natural need
All those,
you will behold then, who hang gleefully now
Passed
through the passages to your akin indeed.
Accredit you
or not, this is only the success secret
All those
abide by this become at any cost great.
{This poem
is taken from the poet’s 1st poetry Anthology, A CYNOSURE OF ENGLISH
POEMS}
MELANCHOLY
OF PECCABLE SOUL
In the mental jungle of mine
Sometimes
snatches Satan the bridle of reason
Forcibly sways over it the malign
Dictates me
to head toward the province of sin!
Entering
the fake coveted province
When, feel
nowhere the spurious gleam
Begin
cursing, in vein, for inclination vice
But to no
use, for never looks back a marching stream…
{This poem
is taken from the poet’s 1st poetry Anthology, A CYNOSURE OF ENGLISH
POEMS}
A MYSTRY
Why
is so alert and agile before
Becomes
trunk-steady dormant and dull?
All
his vigour, vivacity and vitality
Gallop
away from the sight soon after the last breath
All
hard earned hoardings and belongings become unknown to him:
Dissolve
as fumes in the space
Thunderous
sobbing and vociferous cries unheard
Bloods
become white and unfamiliar!
But
neither he nor any other knows the mystery
Whence
does he come and whither does he go?
Leaving
behind, only a hollow mark of reminiscence
To
love-loathe, smile-sob, deplore and deride!
{This poem
is taken from the poet’s 1st poetry Anthology, A CYNOSURE OF ENGLISH
POEMS}
12.
AN
ARDENT NOON
The
relentless eruptions of the monstrous volcanoes
Deafen
Her ears; stupefy their beings,
Blast
Her breast; squeeze their lives,
Dent
Her brow; embitter their bloods,
Pit
Her head; stifle their breath,
Shatter
Her shape; batter their bellies,
Disrupt
Her slumber; destroy their masses,
Lacerate
Her solace; maze their ways
Dilapidate
Her pace; detonate their senses
Mutilate
Her organs; torment their nerves
Vociferates
She now; scream and scamper the rest
All
are huddled in an imminent end
Only
a few more blinks to do spend!
N.B: Here, ardent noon symbolizes the violent
intensity caused by inhumans by irrational activities. Her stands for Mother
Earth and their stands for the innocent people’s.
©Shankar D
Mishra 08.02.2017
{This poem
is taken from the poet’s 1st poetry Anthology, A CYNOSURE OF ENGLISH
POEMS}
13.
AN ENIGMATIC SOURCE
With
the perishment of corporal figure:
The
heart stabilizer becomes auto cut!
The
supplier of power becomes itself passive!
The
streams of smile become dried up!
The
tempest of passion becomes stagnant!
The
flows of movement become still!
The
automatic phone becomes dead!
The
telescopic vision becomes obscure!
The
computerised memory is deleted forever!
The
cordless speaker becomes dumb and deaf!
The
fruits of achievement hang sans stem!
The
enjoyer of everything jumps into nothing!
The
controller of the cosmos becomes now a corpse!
And
all about him is an enigmatic source!
14.
IF THERE
WERE NO TREES
If
there were no trees
Where
could blow gentle breeze?
Where
could we get cool rains?
How
could grow sweet grains?
How
could we get freezing shades
Relieve
from the fiery Sun our heads?
How
could save we floods and droughts?
Yes,
grass to sprout could display doubts…
What
would happen to our life then?
All
would scamper out of pain,
Hi-tech
science would doze in vain
Could
not survive a single chain
Nothing
but Silence over here reign!
Whom
would the Earth lavishly entertain?
To
enjoy all and praise His creation
So,
let’s be all to them kind and humane.
{This poem
is taken from the poet’s 1st poetry Anthology, A CYNOSURE OF ENGLISH
POEMS}
15.
On the 8th
anniversary of Mumbai Terror attack, 26/11/2008
A
TEAR FAIR
Pools
of tears
Streams
of tears
Lakes
of tears
Seas
of tears
Oceans
of tears
And
showers of tears
Gushing
down from the C.S.T station
Springing
down from the Hotel Oberoi
Flushing
down from the Taj Heritage
Trickling
down from the Nariman House
Collecting
from the other tributaries and confluencing
Flow’d
on the beds of Mumbai
Ceaselessly
relentlessly and helplessly…
Stalling
a tear fair for three days
Proving
again ‘The barbaric cowards rush in
Where
the civilised heroes fear to tread…’
{This poem
is taken from the poet’s 1st poetry Anthology, A CYNOSURE OF ENGLISH
POEMS}
16.
THE
ULTIMATE GOAL
Came
as thou must thou go
Be
as joyful as thou didst vow.
The
world is naught but a show
Some
part higher, some role low.
All
they came did never stay
Early
or late, did pass away.
Hence,
never thou interrogate, “thou why”?
That
will result in only an enigmatic “phi”.
So,
prefer to exist as gladly as to enter
For,
the new always replace the older.
Be
in the strife a praise-worthy soldier
Choose
thy diet only the Divine prayer.
Then,
leave thy fear and reluctance
To
end thy pre-assigned role,
To
meet with the Providence
Ought
to be thy Ultimate Goal.
N.B:
This poem is inspired by H. W. Longfellow’s poem ‘A Psalm of Life.’
©Shankar
D Mishra 06.02.2017
17.
IF I WERE A TREE
Were
I a sweet black-berry nut tree
Standing
restive on the strand of a river;
A
sweet repository for many a bird and bee
Smug
I would be to flourish my favour!
All,
except the inanimate, would be my exhilarating guests
Dawns,
noons, dusks and nights would be busy
Hospitalising
all sans hostility and sans rests
Satiate
I would like a Mother selflessly crazy.
Fishes
beneath me wouldn’t go unrelished
Also,
when all would enjoy a never ending feast,
Fanning
of the breezes would have embellished
The
chirps, humming and fluttering on my cosy breast.
But,
if not I am, at present in reality so,
Should
I not try my utmost to do an ounce
Of
my fancy’s part before it does go
Baseless
as the modern ministers pronounce?
@Shankar
D Mishra 24.12.2016
{This poem
is taken from the poet’s 1st poetry Anthology, A CYNOSURE OF ENGLISH
POEMS}
18.
THAT’S WHY THOU ART CALLED GURU
O’
the Great and Unique Redeemer of the Universe!
Nothing
in the prodigious contrivance of the Theo
Is
so heavy as Thou art which thy very ‘Label’ infers.
O’
the sole Dispeller of the whole darkness of ignorance!
Thou
art made up of unusual ingredients and stuffs
To
revive the dormant, spread peace and knowledge enhance.
O’
the Remover of the perturbed public pains!
No
mundane can be as panacean as Thine
To
eliminate desire and render relief from the rigid chains.
O’
the Divine Delegate to the transitory earth!
Neither
I eulogise nor do Flatter, Thanks Krishna!
To
prompt me to pen what’s only the sooth.
O’
the Torch Bearer of my long loose life!
I
beg nothing but Thy grace to vanquish this interminable strife.
{This poem
is taken from the poet’s 1st poetry Anthology, A CYNOSURE OF ENGLISH
POEMS}
19.
HOW
MUCH YOU AGREE ?
Blindness is a blessing
Where eyesight fails to perceive
property;
It’s better to be mute
Where tongue poisons hearts utterly.
A curse is the birth
That kills other’s mirth;
Ignoble is the life
That stabs souls like a knife.
A hell is the shade
That scorches limbs and head;
Futile is the fence
That filches crops men’s.
Vice is the power
That injustice does shower;
Garbage is the knowledge
That lacks virtue, nobility and glaze.
Useless is the cultivation
That yields rigorous ruination;
Despicable is the elevation
That blocks the path of salvation.
[This National Award winning poem,
published in “Samvedana” Mangalore, Karnatak, 2006, is taken from ‘A CYNOSURE
OF ENGLISH POEMS’]
20.
IF IT WERE ONLY A DISPASSIONATE URGE!
Of
course, not a mere few
Drooped
to devotion pan chew
Only
to spit and make lips crimson hue
Pay
what meant not for perpetual dew!
Most
those who converge
Float,
yet don’t submerge
Feign
to rinse, fail to purge
Sins
accumulated by sense’s buzz
To
evade “cycles” in vain dodge
Can’t
book an Elysian lodge:
For,
fear, apprehension and anxiety charge,
But,
if it were only a dispassionate urge…
{This poem is taken from the poet’s 1st
poetry Anthology, A CYNOSURE OF ENGLISH POEMS}
21. LOVE’S
TRIUMPH
Why
art thou mute
Even
they do dispute?
Being
themselves a brute
Assert
to be Lord’s flute!
A
public property thou art
Coerced
to play lust’s part!
On
thy face they dost smart
Gambol
they, groans thy heart!
Yes,
injustice is to ravish Love’s right
Smack
Him through affront’s plight,
Exploit
His humility’s height
Crucify
Him and drag dead delight!
Yet,
ephemeral is their miry merriment
Triumph
wilt thou in the last Judgment.
{This poem is taken from the poet’s 1st
poetry Anthology, A CYNOSURE OF ENGLISH POEMS}
22.
MY MOTHER
My
mother always bothers
Very
unlike others;
Makes
offspring better
Nothing
on globe greater.
She
serves unto Her demise
Uneducated
but wise.
A
full-moon in guise
Unpayable
her prize.
Very
familiar with stormy percussion
Still
bounty in Her pure affection.
Passive
resistance, Her unique cream.
Happiness
to Her is a dried up stream.
Me
like an ingrate son
Earth
witnessed never born.
She
is a Rose, myself a thorn
I
am the chaff, she is corn.
Ah!
Stars smile in Her august presence
The
Sun departs in her gloomy absence.
Compassion
looks through Her chaste glance
To
have Her indeed is a Heavenly chance!
@Shankar
D Mishra 17.12.2016
23. the rest!
Do
they attain lasting rest
Being
bigwigs’ hired guest
Stripping
off their noxious chests
Tantalizing
others by covetous pests?
Don’t
they forget their prime goal
Toying
with physique, stifling the Soul?
Were
they sent here only to dole
Digging
within many a hole?
Aren’t
they sowing baneful seeds
Indulging
ever in despicable deeds
Adulterating
in themselves universal creeds
Giving
birth only to promiscuous breeds?
How
to curb this vexatious and nocuous pollution?
What
is then its sure solution?
The
only measure is to restrain passion
Waging
motion against nude fashion.
{Based on an English Daily’s publication,
Mumbai, this poem is taken from the poet’s 1st poetry Anthology, A
CYNOSURE OF ENGLISH POEMS}
24.
THE Plight of Two Hapless Parrots
O’
God Thou alone knowest!
What
do those heartless men procure
Confining
the innocent, harmless, free parrots
Within
an obnoxious, torturous, iron hell
Making
them plumeless, servile, and stagnant
Fettering
them illegally, arbitrarily and irrationally
Divesting
them forcibly from the tax free enjoyment
Of
the bounteous Charms of evergreen Mother?
But
alas! Nobody pays a pitiful attention
To
the perdue pathos of the imprisoned couple
Those
pass through sans any crime, calumny and culpability!
The
captives skirl, scream and shriek anon, anon
Shed
silent tears countless days and nights
For,
they are mute having no power to plead
Very
like the repugnant human beings in the court,
To
bribe the voracious, gluttonous and discriminate judges;
No
black money horde, political hands
To
buy verdicts of the callous, owlish jury
To
snatch unjust freedom away!
The
only alternative is to curse and reconcile to their hapless lots!
{This poem is taken from the poet’s 1st
poetry Anthology, A CYNOSURE OF ENGLISH POEMS}
25.
What
Would Happen?
If mind could think all the things
If scruple could judge all the things
If eyes could see all the things
If teeth could chew all the things
If tongue could speak all the things
If hand could touch all the things
If mouth could eat all the things
If mirror could manifest all the things
If stomach could digest all the things
If pen could express all the things
If thirst could quench all the drinks
If man could get all he thinks!
N.B. ‘If thirst could quench all the
drinks.’ – This sentence is in the form of inversion. The correct order of this
sentence is:If all the drinks could quench thirst.
@Shankar D Mishra 10.01.2017
26.
SOME LIVE................
Some live a life of the dead
As energetic as a silhouette’s shade
A river without water
A book without a letter......
Some live until they breathe their last
Until they are mingled in the dust
Until their life's dusk
Until they turn into a hollow
husk......
But some live
even long after their demise
For the entire
humanity, remain a ‘priceless prize’
Transcend the
boundary of Immortality
And become
synonyms for the Eternity.........
Would that I could live like the last
Could breathe even after breathing my
last……!
To snatch unjust freedom away!
The only alternative is to curse
and reconcile to their hapless lots!
25. What Would Happen?
If mind could think all the things
If scruple could judge all the
things
If eyes could see all the things
If teeth could chew all the things
If tongue could speak all the
things
If hand could touch all the things
If mouth could eat all the things
If mirror could manifest all the
things
If stomach could digest all the
things
If pen could express all the
things
If thirst could quench all the
drinks
If man could get all he thinks!
26. SOME LIVE................
Some live a life of the dead
As energetic as a silhouette’s
shade
A river without water
A book without letter......
Some live till they breathe their
last
Till they are mingled in the dust
Till their life's dusk
Till they turn into a hollow
husk......
But some live even long after
their demise
For the entire humanity remain a
‘priceless prize’
Transcend the boundary of
Immortality
And become synonyms for the
Eternity.........
27. HARK NOW !!!
Hark: Now the look is aphrodisiac
The mind is frantic
The desire is maniac
The action is fantastic !
Hark: Now the physique is for lasciviousness
The examination is for certificate
The wedlock is for confinement
Everything is for frivolousness!
Hark: Now study is for service
Duty is for avarice
Marriage is for slice
Life is for vice!
N.B: As energetic as a
silhouette’s shade
A river without water
A book without a letter......
The above sentences are ironical
statements as a silhouette [shadow], a waterless river and a letterless book
are never energetic as they are lifeless or meaningless objects.
Hark: Now smile is for motive
Reverence is for objective
Affection is for selective
Love is for lucrative!
Hark: Now worship is for boon
Temple is for idle conversation
City is for prostitution
Modern is for false fashion!
Hark: Now the press is for business
The T.V. is for laziness
The picture is for sensuousness
The world is for heaviness!
28. A PRAYER FOR MY MOTHER
O’ God! Never dost thou sever Her
Despite being Her life many a
slice
She does continue to serve and
sacrifice
Garbs every scar underneath Her
tortured soul
Possessing lavish care and
exceeding miracle!
She who is an eternal abode of
peace
Ejaculates Her unreluctant
compassion
With neither fear nor
discrimination
Unbearable is a moment Her to miss
Of course, an unusual idol She is
Unperturbed, may you irritate or
tease
Unaffordable Her selfless
dedication is
O’ God! Never dost sever Her from
us please
She is the only source to our
grief appease!
29. WHAT AN INSULATOR Thou Wert?
Ah! For long, I had been looking
forward
For thy pulse to pulsate
Thy nerve to vibrate
Thy heart to throb
Thy verve to verb
Thy lips to quiver
Thy feet to stagger
©Shankar D Mishra 30.01.2017
SOME LIVE................
Some live a life of the dead
As energetic as a silhouette’s shade
A river without water
A book without a letter......
Some live until they breathe their last
Until they are mingled in the dust
Until their life's dusk
Until they turn into a hollow
husk......
But some live
even long after their demise
For the entire
humanity, remain a ‘priceless prize’
Transcend the
boundary of Immortality
And become
synonyms for the Eternity.........
Would that I could live like the last
Could breathe even after breathing my
last……!
To snatch unjust freedom away!
The only alternative is to curse
and reconcile to their hapless lots!
25. What Would Happen?
If mind could think all the things
If scruple could judge all the things
If eyes could see all the things
If teeth could chew all the things
If tongue could speak all the
things
If hand could touch all the things
If mouth could eat all the things
If mirror could manifest all the
things
If stomach could digest all the things
If pen could express all the
things
If thirst could quench all the
drinks
If man could get all he thinks!
26. SOME LIVE................
Some live a life of the dead
As energetic as a silhouette’s
shade
A river without water
A book without letter......
Some live till they breathe their
last
Till they are mingled in the dust
Till their life's dusk
Till they turn into a hollow
husk......
But some live even long after
their demise
For the entire humanity remain a
‘priceless prize’
Transcend the boundary of
Immortality
And become synonyms for the
Eternity.........
27. HARK NOW !!!
Hark: Now the look is aphrodisiac
The mind is frantic
The desire is maniac
The action is fantastic !
Hark: Now the physique is for lasciviousness
The examination is for certificate
The wedlock is for confinement
Everything is for frivolousness!
Hark: Now study is for service
Duty is for avarice
Marriage is for slice
Life is for vice!
N.B: As energetic as a
silhouette’s shade
A river without water
A book without a letter......
The above sentences are ironical
statements as a silhouette [shadow], a waterless river and a letterless book
are never energetic as they are lifeless or meaningless objects.
Hark: Now smile is for motive
Reverence is for objective
Affection is for selective
Love is for lucrative!
Hark: Now worship is for boon
Temple is for idle conversation
City is for prostitution
Modern is for false fashion!
Hark: Now the press is for business
The T.V. is for laziness
The picture is for sensuousness
The world is for heaviness!
28. A PRAYER FOR MY MOTHER
O’ God! Never dost thou sever Her
Despite being Her life many a
slice
She does continue to serve and
sacrifice
Garbs every scar underneath Her
tortured soul
Possessing lavish care and
exceeding miracle!
She who is an eternal abode of
peace
Ejaculates Her unreluctant
compassion
With neither fear nor
discrimination
Unbearable is a moment Her to miss
Of course, an unusual idol She is
Unperturbed, may you irritate or
tease
Unaffordable Her selfless
dedication is
O’ God! Never dost sever Her from
us please
She is the only source to our
grief appease!
29. WHAT AN INSULATOR Thou Wert?
Ah! For long, I had been looking
forward
For thy pulse to pulsate
Thy nerve to vibrate
Thy heart to throb
Thy verve to verb
Thy lips to quiver
Thy feet to stagger
©Shankar D Mishra 30.01.2017
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