Poems - Utkarsh

 (explores life.)

For The City And The "Strangers"

I am new here
I don't know the ways of the world.
I don't want to.
Sirens, crowds, faces, thoughts.
Voices make noises.
Noises make noises.
And I see planes in the sky in place of birds.
Life in the age of -'i' and 'e' suffocated and burns.
Stones are the new version trees.
Tall towers-bigger than humans… stand straight.
They can collapse only due to quake!
Smoke breathes all life.
And the city smokes life into it.
The poet needs some addiction to live
and artists …drink to survive.
the city-lights flashes hard
and smashes the dreams of the desolate youth.
Life is an enigma.
And love a frank deceiver.

I am new here.
I don't know the ways of the world.
I want to survive.
By writing more agonies.
And smelling all pains.
And sometimes.. I want to sleep into the beats of music.
I am new here.
I want to survive.. alone.

Peace. Calm. Quite.


The streets of the city are not sleeping.
It's almost midnight, though.

The smoke of the day is settling somewhere
…in the sky above.
The dry petals alone in their pink-rooms
..sleeping with toys-the gifts of their birthdays.

Those in rags are trying to sleep with their cipher dreams.
So does those in riches…
…in the gloomy influence of the pills every lone night.

Actually, nobody is sleeping in that city.
They all are trying…
Trying to escape the approaching tomorrow.
The noise of sirens,horns and the 'busy'.
They all are searching for dreams.
Dreams of their now submerged sweet childhood.
The city-lights flicker each night…
Whispering with the void of that city.

Old pages

You don't find roses quite often
Only when you do not like them
Sometimes it's useless
Useless reciting poems you loved once
The love poems.

Like once you have the moon for you.
Reason to love the raindrops falling all over.
But they annoy you sometimes.
When you have the same old smell.
Smell of the vintage blue lilies.
Smell of the same old balconies.

He met someone.
Something like a romance novel happened.
Then a tragedy like that of Troy.
In mind.
It was over.
He hated the moonlight for sometime.

The waves are like human emotions.
They push back before they could climb atop.

There was a tree.
A sunset.
A road often travelled.
Muse beside the study table.
Nostalgia across the waters.
Memories through the lane.

We all make a wish.
Try reaching the last pages.

We ignore writing in the old diary.
And then realize that.
It was a dream
And tomorrow will not be just another day.

No comments:

Post a Comment