Tag Archives: Poetry

Father— poetry

Father, the fire is now gone
and your dreams, now extinguished
crippled under the ire of fire.
let alone the home, there isn’t even the house.
the words, they refuse to come out of my  mouth.
Get up father, 
your lolled head is where all my dreams are kept.
Look father, I’ve been a good girl.
Everyone’s here to meet you,
all the preparations done only for you!
For you is the ceremony, 
for you is the new house a bustling, and the people, soon disappearing.
Look father, father, father!
The fire, it melted my shield, 
My father does not hear me.
Hos breath quintened forever ,
His body stilled like never.
The unsolicited questioning eyes surround me,
Like waves in a sea
But I, I trudge to the crematory
Yet another but intentional fire giving a final end to his story.

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She needs, He needs, Family needs,

All their needs stood at the back stabbed together,

Where his eyes were too deep

To cry? To smile? To frustrate to shout

But he has the heart of the joker

His madness came as a flawed words, to his quivering funny lips ,

He showed of his best, the rest is roar

One on stage and other off stage

Two entities laughed at each other,

Knowing themselves deep inside of their needs,

while the show reached its peak

the dying joker was in everyone!

Mothers Day poetry

I walked into my garden

The soil appeared to be scraps of papers sewn together disproportionately,

Rain came in like delayed parcels

I noticed the rose, dripping water off it’s petals

drop by drop and then it all— like your love

The sky descended down to me,

Solid as a glass, blue as a sea

I wiped off the clouds,

and looked at heaven,

And oh, it looked like you.

-ekanika shah

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Her dreams— poetry

She is a living art 

Too real to be called fiction,

Too fictitious to be called real.

Her dreams are shades of red,

Inside her body like 

blood sandwiched between flesh.

She talks to the polka-dotted curtains that hang in the lobby, 

like forgotten art, in a room decorated with false-ceilings.

She smells of flowers

Her soul— a basket full of baked stars,

Forgotten amidsts a sky, 

dotted with scraps of papers—

 that knit fibres of theories.

She carries her stories, 

While they carry legends of inventions and discoveries.

She is the boiling milk,

Taken off the stove,

And mixed with cinnamon

To loose it’s colour, forever.

-ekanika shah.

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Sounds of silence

He is the purest soul she met

And the most lovable entity he met,

It smells like the thousand Rose’s

Eyes serenaded with drama,

Enough to enable a dream of life

but still there is a broken heart,standing with her

It is the speak of the devil, her soul and body feels weightless,

Scarce which never faded,

Hiding her pain in darkness ,

A “dirty picture” she thinks

Still wondering?

she, was raped

But still “she melted to the devil”

Hoping to live with the pure soul

Witnessing love for each other under the scene

He promised the beauty of life and to be wiped to be cleaned disgust

The sound of silence within one soul

Will be the best of both world’s

For george floYd

How is it I trigger your vision so much

That you become a thunderstorm 

And press against my chest until I can’t breathe.

I dismantle into the soil 

and you rain upon me 

suffocating my pores.

I am not fierce but 

I resent with the subtle smell of petrichor.

Why is it you want me to dilute my skin

and pour myself into your white ceramic cups

when my earthen pots are just decorated enough.

How is it I am not a ‘ray’ of hope

But a tunnel of darkness.

I am the metaphors that rest upon your tongue

I want to be more— more than your diction

I want to be a human. 

Why is it you want me to become you

And forget everything we’ve been through.

I am the prequel, the story and the sequel

I was exhaled by the cosmos, 

I refuse to be altered by an inch.

ekanika shah.

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A lonely world and other poems— book review

“A lonely world and other poems”, by Himanshu Goel is a perfect combination of inclusions and exclusions, of sadness mingling with hope, of a longing and rejection of home.

 It beautifully lays down the extraordinary situations in the life of every ordinary human. It swiftly blends the tales of being compelled into loneliness to wanting, yet rejecting to come out of it at the same time. 

I confess, it is one of the most relatable and captivating poetry compilations. The compilation is a lot of things—home, hope, severity and rivety. It lays naked the fact how the world is full of happy people with festered souls. You may go into a self-introspection mode by the end of this beauty. Ever wondered, how we let things happen, see distances increase and still lie back in the fear of being vulnerable?

It would open you to the strangeness of silently seeing yourself become someone you don’t want to and do nothing about it. It’s a realisation that the loneliness trapped inside of you is beautifully tragic. You will experience being a passionate person lost into a labyrinth that leads no where. The hard-hitting end is captivatingly painful. It’s the place where you’ll find imperfections being glorified better than beauty, society being questioned so blatantly and yet so poetically.

Get it now from Amazon!


Inner voice
Inner Voice is a voice 
Which expels when no choice.
Tolerance is silent inside noise
Which becomes dangerous crime’s base.
Including burning heart cries
Which ignites when blood dries.
Tension reaches greater heights 
Which internally firmly bites.
Rascal when kept inside cine
Which hurts the mind, nothing fine. 
Work done with high anger line 
Which destroys the surroundings,no mistake mine.
Feeling high tempered alone 
Which everyone notices but not shown.
No friend here,just God is one
Which spreads blessings just like sun.
                                       -Sahaj Sabharwal 
                                      -Pacca Danga, 
     -Jammu city ,Jammu and Kashmir, India. 
                                       – Dps,Jammu.