Hrishikesh Goswami

Who sat on my Valley of Desolation
and made me sick out of superbia
and gave me the hit of rueful living.
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Cohere the water rising
Prevent it from butchering
the gorgeous things of the marine
The corals, fishes, and sea lions,
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Long ago it commenced
This is the chronicle that reflects the
fine lines of the unsung
The bright blue and
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Every iota of dye
Gives me the notion of gyrating
Around my mother, my family,
My state, and my nation.
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Who can get out the charm?
The belle of the chilled
Glacial waters of heavenly sapphire
Love dipped, sanctity filled
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The rocks on which
I am sitting are
Made of gold.
They do not belong to me
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Who will apprehend
The ideas of a novice nonplus
Who has no stage to stand
And no audience to speak to?
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My breath moves in a cycle
Similar to that of yours
The only variance
Is in the rhythm
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The peeping birds
agape up my psyche
towards the dateless
flattery cascade that fluxes
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Who is that soma
with no beard
where is his moustache?
Where is his masculine fuzz?
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Who uttered the lives of the Black
Didn't matter?
They are just like
You and me
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Will you see a paradise
Where men dies for men?
O yes! Its right in front of you
The men in the borders
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No moon or mere star
Over the expanding sky
Seems to end in one
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How can one be so cold?
Should one's duty override one's emotional intelligence?
Shouldn't there be some reflection about one's feelings in this era of mental health?
Shouldn't one be allowed to chase what his intuitions tell him?
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I was eavesdropping…
The mesmerising hums of nature
When a peculiar sound fell into my desperate ears
The sound of dry leaves
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You might have heard a lot about affairs
Affairs are nothing but manacles of
Love, affection, business, joy and understanding
To know the motive behind one's action
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