Nachiket Quasar


The Asthamatic


Running down on steeps,
going high on a crest
he finds a drill-
too crude in the chest.
Carrying his very being,
pulling his name around a mesh;
when lungs plunge to disgorge the cloister
breathing cuts through his own flesh;
With a pungent wit,
and a rock of will-
he tears his insides
and pant eve more-
just to do, what he did yesterday,
and the day before.
It seems as if from birth,
he is in a hassle,
for a few gulps of life-
ephemeral and nasal.
He looks for a heir,
a face blighted enough
to deliver his credo-
a legacy of illness.
This is a boon,
This is a bane,
This is a charge weighing a ton;
Adulteration of the Mankind-
a job still to be done.

Submitted: Monday, June 17, 2013
Edited: Monday, July 29, 2013

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Related Poems


Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (The Asthamatic by Nachiket Quasar )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Carnal Succubus, Is It Poetry
  2. The Music Just Stops, mike scully
  3. colorful lies, Mary Amrutha
  4. Bonus post, Mae AC.
  5. My Left Hand, Kyle Schlicher
  6. The Mad Scientist Writing, Kyle Schlicher
  7. Right or Wrong, Nasarudheen.P. Parameswaran
  8. A Real Friend, Margaret Moran
  9. you're a vessel i want live on twelve mo.., Mandolyn ...
  10. Riff on Bruce's Post Card Love Affairs, David McLansky

Poem of the Day

poet Wilfred Owen

All sounds have been as music to my listening:
Pacific lamentations of slow bells,
The crunch of boots on blue snow rosy-glistening,
Shuffle of autumn leaves; and all farewells:

...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]