Author Archives: shamsher

About shamsher

There is still a bit of breath that i hold,still a bit of engineering left.........

A Pristine promise…

I will be a star
One day, I will be you
You will be in me
Embracing. Laughing
With utter silence
We will be smiling
In dark, smiling more
In the darkest

Ah, how beautiful
We both together
As one
Lost will be a No one
Except for two or three
And there will be
The greatest union
Of a soul
Don’t know if I should say ” poor ”
Am not saying though
Let it be Let… to define
Soul will fly fly fly
Collide collide collide
Ummm, hug, hug, hug
And may be some fairy angels will sing
Soul will become a STAR
And I became a star
A pristine promise
Of a Bohemian

A part of me died…

They asked why “……”
And I said ” why not…”
Between both why’s
I lived
I succumbed
Sometimes, somewhere
As a seeker
Down the mountain
Flowing ganges
With herds, on its bank
Having wild morsel
I thought why “….”
Something in me
Answered ” Why not…”
I again lived
Shallow breaths
Deep thoughts
I saw sun
Sun saw me
We both smiled
Sea was serene
Moon was calm
And both were painting
the canvas of surreal union
of different shades of dusk and dawn
I watched
I watched
And I watched
For, it was the last gaze
Which all words shall I choose???
At my own grave
Screaming loudly in deft of silence
Something died
A part of me died

Just ME and YOU

In eternity
I will swing
Upon the celestial wings
Parched lips
Will drink the dews of cosmic love
In colours of rainbows
I will secretly pass smile
I will love and love you
Till I die to become the ashes
And yet again I will be born
There and there itself
In some fields as paddies
To again see you smiling
May be someday
You will fall in love with me
Free from anything and everything
Just ME & YOU

An anchor of NOBODY’S drama

An anchor of NOBODY’S drama
He was nobody
He will be nobody
He was of nobody
there was none for him
Busy was the business
Flourishing in every corners
Except in his heart
In sigh ,In cry
He well knew
This isn’t for him
Yet he used to falsify himself
Just to feel few moments
Breathing
Breathing
Breathing
Feel his own breaths
In and out
Shallow and deep
Life, he laughed
Death ,he laughed more
Love, he kept on laughing
And now sometimes
On a lonely road
He is seen on the NH-2
Sometimes when in an accident
Some say ” they saw a white man ”

My heart is out

In eternal wait
Sun sank in the sea
Moon gulped the Ocean
Gravitational forces failed
Something succumbed
In the bask of glory
Dews embraced the dusk
Sunflower kissed the sun
And there the splendid sun
Casts the shadow
Longer , darker and more clearer
Was it the holocaust of the smoke
Or the hallucination of me
I was there
I was everywhere
As a shade, grey and white
In colours I splashed to breathe
What was dwarfing in me
Or was it a warm welcome
I woke up
And found my heart was out
In the fragrance of the flowers
In the verses of my poems
To be the bohemian
Of untravelled woods
Of which the dust laden books
In some library dwells
The grave of immortal stories
I woke up , I wrote
And then the sparrows left the nests
To see another sun moons
And my heart was out
It was three in the morning
Silence, silence, and dead silence
Something died in that moment
Forever to embrace
Something unsaid
Something unheard
Something unfelt

The greatest writer ever…

The greatest writer ever
I write
You write
All writes
Some encrypts
While some decrypts
Some hold the expertise of rhymes
While some don’t care of ripples
Some writes impulsively the free verses
While some care of all elements
Be it ironies or the metaphors
Or the similies or the deft imageries
Some write with heart
While some uses the grey cells
But there is a silent writer
The master writer the greatest writer
Who writes
Infinite stories
Of infinite souls
Infinite poems
Of Replicating, depicting all mimics
That it carved in its origin
Of infinite universes
Some spoke of black holes
Other conceptually talks of supernova
Writing space, time and all spatial variables
I surrender
Not to any writer who writes with pen and ink
But I bow
But I surrender
But I pay ‘ dandwat’
Burning the camphor at my heart
Where all ceases
Which is beyond the beyond
And I wish
To pay more
To speak more
In praise of that writer
Upon whom bows the azure sky
And darling is earth and ocean
And while I am writing
I want to hold my breath forever
For am speaking of / about the greatest writer ever
And on this pristine journey
I fear of doped attires
Of hypocrites
Who may cross argue / diffuse even unsaid unheard words
Or may over enthusiastically
Invite for some ‘ call for submission ‘
Or for some contests
Least do they remember
The thesis
Have all been already submitted
In the holy library
Least known
More lived
Than studied
For essence lies in living
Your words
Our words
World of words
So that words may breath once again
At all thy writer’s hand
May be that’s what the greatest writer wants

The speaking stone

The freezing breeze whirls,
In the conjure of furuncle of secrets
Secrets in the deep abyss;
Engulfing and embracing the shackles of shades
Shades of infinite color’s, or facets, or seas of sea
Sea, with the senile stature
As, is a satirical, of Aristophanes’ playwright
Romped and retched with its own tides
To witness; the aperture, of the aberration as ripples
It dies to live and lives to die in every moment
For thy! Momentum is recurring plea of this melodramatic drama
Yet, that colossal stone has not ceased to censor the inert inertia
Getting emaciated with every slap by moments
It loves, hugs and drugs itself to stand unmovable
It is all the story of some speaking stone
SPEAKING

Oh my diary


Beyond blues
in the symphony of fireflies
Amidst the white swans
Me and my alien heart
On the contours of black and white
Lost in the labyrinth of my diary
in search of some lost lullaby
Scaffolding of my castles of fairy dreams
Withered in swirls of some nests
in the fuzzy neurons and cells
Of expansion, growth as all says
May be, may not be
And here with my shallow breaths
I kept gazing at the crescents of moon
May be decoding its peripherals
Of relations, functions, mappings
And slowly my eyes gets closed
Some frenzy breezes came whispering
To tease
To soothe
To caress
As some stories untold
As some lives unlived
I woke up
Not to sleep ever again
And the pages of my diary are unfurling
May be to tell some stories left untold
Or to ask for few more breaths
From the one and only beloved of his master

diary im

The Art of Poetry

The art of poetry

Tapestry of words as buds
Sprouts as Dews
Grassy blades
Talks of elements
Sometimes irony, sometimes metaphors
A poet carves the paintings
No less than Picasso
Or neither less than the music
Of beethoven
That rhymes
To some chords
As words breathes
When a poet smirks
Smiles the similies
When a poet yearns for the dearly diamond
Charming cinquains is drunked
Himalya at the Pacific
Is his senile fantasy of imagery
That rose drinks the wine
And the wine proposes the valentine
With the sonnets of wordsworth
And when a poet go insane
In his senility bosoms ‘The art of poetry ‘
As a pristine prayer to be wholly holy