Rishav Rastogi

Rishav Rastogi Poems

Rishav Rastogi Biography

A postgraduate medical science student-neuroscience in Moscow, Russian Federation. I belong to a middle-class nuclear family.My father worked in State Bank and my mom in Bank Of India.I was born in Eastern India frontier's Arunachal at a place very close to China borders. My family later on moved to Kolkata, the City Of Joy when i was 4.I stayed there until my +2s and did schooling from Julien Day and St.Lawrence.Then my father relocated in Delhi for better opportunities. I did my B.Sc in Chemistry with a upper second class from Delhi University and went on to accomplish my M.B.B.S. from Bangalore.Thanks to Almighty to get me through the nerve-racking five years.I did two years internship in the prestigious AIIMS, Delhi. I was later on placed in as an associate medical officer there but could not live up to their expectations....its very competitive and not for someone average or normal student like me.Frustrations came and i eventually left before disciplinary procedures could sack me off. Poetry i think is something that brings freshness to the soul.Somebody aptly said 'A poet never dies...a poet's existence only terminates from poetry but the deathless soul speaks.' I have come across many poems until now.Used to write my petty hand way back in school and am a big fan of Rabindranath Tagore, John Keats and P.B.Shelley.)

The Best Poem Of Rishav Rastogi

Is That Your Woman?

In the alleyways of Moscow
when life gets stuck into ideologies divided
in a rut,
Appears you need to break the ice
with warmth more than the freezing cold,
Someone calls you from the silhouette shades
and your bloody eyes laugh like a hyena,
A tailor who measures more than a waist,
a hip, a breast and something more
through the window of your car,
You juggle your pockets until they are torned
till the last dropp of your splash,
Sans bearing much fruit of an inspired response
called love,
Is that a woman?
Is that your woman?

In the streets of Berlin
when you breathe life into something,
It appears someone's waist shaking circles of your nerves
no need for a tailor as technologies tagging measurements,
In digital matrix of all statistics they beckon you
from those glazed glass masonettes,
Fervence becomes more lucrative than immunity
just in the burning of some rubbers,
You never know the cards you swipe
in the place which is farway second,
Something called trust bethrottles you
in then game of sour restraint and sweet vulnerability,
Is that a woman?
Is that your woman?

In the offices of New York
decision stuck in recession,
To tame a sensex's green life
or destiny's untold vestibule for those women,
Blonde, brunette, redheads and and many many more species
who knows if they explore variety with stacks of corporate cash,
Spice of life may be;
for the one messy melting pot of their recession,
You are thrown to have life as a bubble
when in cleavages of ransom interest ignites,
The shoddy shores of no confidence and losses irreparable
and something called relationship fetches you cold heart,
Smell of many panties for the bull's share
and yummy bras for the bear's,
Your done up passions now captured
and now all hounding them to be colonised;
Is that a woman?
Is that your woman?

In the clubs of London
stagnating life into weekend's heavy boozes,
You smell off the pigeons
thinking they are clay-clad and you are the gun,
The sodium of your brain fails the rotten smile in your face
the eggy difference between day and night,
Refuting freshness in love
in the face of fleshy-flashy-freaky-freedom;
Deadlocked in passions' dormancy the dead hours of night
and when morning comes its all the attorneys,
Claiming off the heroic darkness dropped in the day of a rapist
to tell how well you endure time, money and energy
you think yours and they are not,
Is that a woman?
Is that your woman?

Rishav Rastogi
18/08/09

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