Alok Mishra writes

A Perfect Choice

In the long journey of life

I have reached

The confusing point

Where the road bifurcates into two.

One, seemingly fascinating, is a pretty path,

With unnatural lights

And smooth shining surface bright;

A number of travelers are there,

Rejoicing their sham songs,

Having no comprehension of

Where the road leads

And what the end point will be.

The other, in option I have,

Is by few feet used;

In mirth they proceed

On their familiar path

Of the grassy ground glimmering

With the shiny moon’s white illumination;

A soothing light warm wind,

Sprinkling several sweet smelling juices,

Lessens the anguish of exhausted bodies.

My inner voice,

From the depth of my heart,

Exhorts me to start

On the second path

That to my destination goes.

 

Fork in the Road --Michael Tolleson

Alok Mishra writes

Incessant Shower

Having awakened from long hibernation,
I ran
Towards
An invisible image.

A band of seekers,
Thirsty of divine nectar,
Drenched in the holy shower,
Having not any sense
Of being animate,
Was after my shadow.

I danced,
Making harmony
With the rythm of the drums,
Being beaten by men fulfilled;
As a nymph
Being mesmerised,
In heaven
Dances in the tone of
Apollo's lyre.

The leaves of the pines
Around the high mountain
In jocund,
Embraced the breeze,
As a bevy of beauties,
Swaying their hips,
Caress their lovers
In great glee.

The sun, like a groom,
Brought a golden stole
And covered the mountain
As if his newly wed bride,
Shyly.
Her every limb was shining
With the golden, warm and healing attire;
No more cold was there now.

Through the golden path
My bare feet passed
And took me to pinnacle
From where,
None could be seen in the earth.

The unlimited power
Extended me
Incessant shower.
I soaked myself
With the velvety touch.
For a moment
I forgot myself;
I had no sense
To perceive
His carnal presence.
A whispering voice
Of my heart
Silently
Gave me a part
Of information of the whole.

 

 Apollo and the Muses -- John Singer Sargent

Alok Mishra writes

My Lovely Spirit

Why does your memory
Give me a sense
Of ocean's depth
In my trembling heart?

Times ago
I used to ask you for
The words of my thoughts.
Now I am barren.
How to tell you,
O my lovely spirit?

Not a second passed
Without your breath in my lungs.
Every part of my tangible frame cries for its existence.
How do they survive,
O my lovely spirit?

No one in this world
Is so beautiful and dear to me,
But it is my strong nature
That I stand in both worlds
Even if you are not before me
To give me support.

No, no it is your supporting nature
That is alive in me
Even today.
You are not absent,
You are present, present, present
Before me.
Your breath I feel in my lungs;
Your blood circulates in my veins;
Your feelings are in my nerves;
Your tears I feel in my eyes;
Your supporting nature tells me the words
That embellish this poem,
O my lovely spirit!

 Veronica -- Benjamin Garcia