Ankur Beohar


The Arrow Of My Heart


An arrow from the darkness of my heart
shot in the direction of my heart
raging with fire of the fiery passion that we shared
while penning down the chronicles of our art.

Craving for freedom from the dungeons of mutilated existence
of the words that had outlived their credence
moving rigorously, cutting across the air of inertia on its part
An arrow shot from the darkness of my heart.

Yet withheld, with the fear of lacerating its famous prey
kept in the confines of the mind, and its notorious bay
to strengthen the bond that keeps the spirit aloft
There was this arrow, this arrow of my heart.

And still, it burnt, burnt with the flares of my past
and of those regions of space, which leave the spirit aghast
it burnt in time, within the conscience of my conscious being
and it burnt in water, enlightening my life's stream

No, mortal has ever escaped its wrath,
This arrow is fatal, its filled with the poison of destiny’s dart
But she stood, erect, dignified, in the concavity of my aim
Ah! Look, just wonder, how my arrow has lost its flame.

Submitted: Tuesday, November 05, 2013
Edited: Thursday, November 07, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Sometimes in the middle of a lot of people you find yourself alight, aflame in your own creativity, in that passion to conquer something that's bent on manifesting through you. And you cocoon yourself in that feeling, stay out of the world of 'a lot of people', and there they are, struck, gloomy, hurt at your indifference.
Sometimes, some people break that bridge and form a bond, include you and your creations in that ambit, break norms to accept your indifference in lieu of the reward of your creativity. To one such person, who forms the core of my life today. The Arrow of my heart.

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