How much deep
I drown my sorrow
much less remains
to fill the crypt
Falling leaves
occupy the space
wrinkled and crisp
drugged by silence, down
How much more
I stretch myself
much that looks me above
burrow me underground
to make their nest
Your remembrance
made ripples into my heart,
yet
couldn’t fill
my veins with the flow
Your face, made
many occurrences on my brush,
yet
couldn’t fill the canvas
with an image
Your strength
streaked a ray of light
yet
only a whiff, came
hoary from my grave
© Tapeshwar Prasad
I have been
looking for you
into the folds of my lustrous eyes
creased, unblinking
over time and space.
How, now
have I been pantomimed
in gesture and mime
over the years
forceful of your camaraderie
Unsuccessfully
that I gather storm
at every of your blink
© Tapeshwar Prasad
How you evade
upon murky night;
the glittering eyes
of a blackbird
Take scent of its verbal text
from her phosphorescent gaze
and illumine the darker world
that has been bewitching and bewildering
the bystanders for eons, inside
An ‘Allegory of the cave’.
© Tapeshwar Prasad
I pause
between my steps
as I get down the stairs
of my bricks and cement house
and walk the greenery of the field
walk the bylanes of my village
topsy-turvy of curves
stretching my hands full and wide
all those fruits
mangoes, guava, tamarinds;
all smiling past
lure me branches and trees
monkeys, birds and wasps
These running waters
ripple through my heart
oneness of nature
I pause
between my breath
reminiscent of golden time –
my youthful days
Frolicking my deams
night and day
I take crayons and pencils
and draw a line
towards the next step, down the stairs
© Tapeshwar Prasad
Those spectacles, that
I kept seeing on my study table
worked with my hazy eyes
the forlorn journey
of my oeuvre past
How a wind blew
through the needle of my eyes
and swept, all
the running letters of my dream;
I stood present
like an ozymandias
sturdy, on a pedestal
working out my vision
stretching the desert without
Among you; that I lay flat
as a naked silence
as the swoosh of a hawk
rushing down
to claw my flesh from my white bones.
What is this tower of silence
enticing,
digging,
clamouring my space
with pungent smell of a rotting flesh
and an anxiety of
a theistic monologue
© Tapeshwar Prasad
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