Prakhar Sharma

Prakhar Sharma Poems

Here we go, back to the same road

Finding silence in the row and then we roar
...

On the middle of a finish where the dead begins
The aura of guilt still zilch to pretend
A stepping stone leading towards the dark
Another denial picturing the rusted swings in the park
...

Oh how I wish you were here, we could have been happy.
The train will lead to nothingness, the doors of truth runs on the broken tracks.
There will be a light on the floor where lay our remains, shining shattered shame.
You will move further, farther will be my catch. What about the mountains when the molehills are no more?
...

May I start now before the barren land of sorrow takes away my highness?
Will it be appreciated my running away through her fields?
The horizon of our dullness, could it fulfil her gulf of numbness?
If the river is flowing along with the birds chirping, can it reach the sand of her shore? Not her virginity, but my debut can raise her hand's toast, and her lips will glitter our banished blundered beauty.
...

The Best Poem Of Prakhar Sharma

Musical Love Story On Record

Here we go, back to the same road

Finding silence in the row and then we roar

Spitting venom, that's all in the store

The storm is tight but thousand miles away is the door

Searching the lights is making me stoop low

I''m sick of these fights, walk away, ... No! !

Our love is like a desert with an Eskimo

Open the window, and feel the glow

This physcho, is still in your dreams

when you reminisce, he overlaps your spleen

you're still his princess, so let's redeem,

the love and quit this evil scheme

he's the sun, with the radioactive beams

you're the plectrum, while the guitar is unseen

his mic spits pun, with esteem

together you are a team

save the saga, before morphine turns into vivarine

The truth is you love him, and he loves you

get outa the vindictiveness, and break the curfew

his chords are blessed, and you're the breakthrough

let the ego distress, saints are there to pursue

the musical love story continues, pretend the 'fullstop' was a voodoo

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