Biography of Kumar Parashar
YET TO BE MADE
Kumar Parashar Poems
My Lovely Sister
Is solace anywhere more comforting than in the arms of a sister I read somewhere and I think to myself how fate was so kind The experience I have had in the years of my life untold and unsaid But I would like her to know she is always on my mind
The spirit of travelling haunts me For neither I am the emissary nor the traveller But since I am here and it bounds me I have to walk though I have no stamina
Knock knock! Who is it? 'Sheen Thompson' she said. 'I am a tourist from far away land, Hampstead' Her pink and dry lips were longing of water and Her curly hair so delightfully covering her head.
Ode To Love
O urvashi! Yore I yearn to wit thou Wax we yearn and wax we quote I hath so many things I donst speak Of the heavens and earth I wax weak
I, The Soldier
I killed a man today, did not know his name I did not know his history, I am the one to blame I searched his pocket for grenades and guns Found a photo of his three little children having fun
The Train Of Life
Station to station, it pauses but never stops Running forever on those shiny steel blocks The engine whistles and the train always goes on Tracks of steel shall never cease forth and beyond
The One By The Twenty First
In darkness and despair, he uttered to answer a prayer 'Let there be light', in Genesis, the black ends with dark slayer. The words conversed to mere mortals and disperse In ages to come and ages went by, they bloomed and dust
On the parallels of air I breathe, I cease to see the world in me With passing of beat inside the very heart I wish to feel like brie
Moments Of Past
A shot at happiness is all I wish for, is all I need An attempt to smile from heart, on my lips that bleed A desperate try to rise above sorrows of past To ease the pains and the poises that last
I Abode Alone!
Lonely and alone, what my life has become Shattered and broke, the day is to come Dark are the days and darker the nights Lonely and alone, lonely are these dark midnights
Who is a poet? A pen which is articulate in expressions? A word which cold uplift humans from state of depression? A phrase which could imagine the petite in its majesticness? A symphony which has the power to remove sightlessness?
The Grand Finale
Beauty is in the man who succumbs to the inevitable ends. The beauty of relief and the beauty of the final breath. The unmatched splendor of the quality of concluding transcends. Tell me o life! Is there anything more beautiful than death?
In time to come The emptiness of failures Of life in dark Will turn into cocoon
Knock knock! Who is it? 'Sheen Thompson' she said.
'I am a tourist from far away land, Hampstead'
Her pink and dry lips were longing of water and
Her curly hair so delightfully covering her head.
A little sleepy, my eyes still struggling with the morning light
Did not notice her till she came in and the room lit bright
Her eloquent white dress, cream shoes, brown bag on shoulders,
Shiny face of a child, a little fearful but her head held high