Prakash Mehra Poems

When the beats are low and visions are light,
Often, in my dreams, I see an unseen sight.
Through nervous passage to uneasy chore,
My anxious sensation does open the door.
...

Though the globe appears huge, Yet often I doubt,
A step-up, a step-out, and that’s what is all about.
Few set of ticks to carry, number of miles to chase,
Despite fixed quota, our mammoth desires to raise.
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When I was dying, and dealing with the angel of death.
You disappeared, and didn’t turn back.
What were you waiting for, perhaps, my final breath!
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When I think of you, my eyes turn wet,
But, when you think of me, your face turns red,
The tears or the smile,
Which approach is good?
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My hut; It’s too spacious to carry we two.
Visit my space,
Don’t stay homeless!
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