Prasanna Mishra

Prasanna Mishra Poems

On the auspicious day
I also took my place
With a stoic frame of mind
Moved inch by inch

I am no God,
I cry when a child dies of hunger,
When a mother sells her infant to the wine merchant, I cry
I have no appetite to be God

Wilted leaves I knew
Do not revive
Yet I believed
When you said

Piercing lumps of stones
Inflict bruises
His frame aches
While the carrier moves

Those grains of ashes
I yearn for
On the beach
The sea breeze blew

Pour dear clouds
Pour, with great vengeance
I would welcome your drops
At all hours of the day


I find her
Insomniac, quiet and forlorn;
Sometimes, serene and asleep,

Twenty Twenty, a haiku
Written on the bat by the ball on the pitch
On floodlight

His quivering fingers grope
A corner of the school wall
Where unsteady fingers scribbled
Newly learnt alphabets

Rolling of tears
Looks natural
Like expected rains

His leader convinced him.
He dwelt in poverty
And shunned prosperity
One was virtue; the other vice.

when lexicon
turns inadequate
when upsurge of dreams
fails to form

It was laden with fruits again this year
As it was each year
Cuckoos hid behind its rich foliage again this year
And sang, as they did, each year.

Tell me
Would you
Ever like it
If the moon decides

How could it have
been otherwise?
You say the treasure

I had watched her
In the courtyard
Under the breezy autumn sky

Who is he
Coming so silently
Without a convoy
Without a banquet

The ship had left the shore
With them

Prasanna Mishra Biography

Lives in Bhubaneswar with his wife Smt Rama Mishra. Wrote most of his poems while working in the Government. Of late, writing sparingly and only small poems.)

The Best Poem Of Prasanna Mishra

Tryst With Life

On the auspicious day
I also took my place
With a stoic frame of mind
Moved inch by inch
As the sluggish python
Its meandering motion

The eagerness
To place offerings
At the altar
The euphoria
of justlings
Near the sanctum sanctorum
Catapulted me
To an atoll
of isolation

Peace returned
After a while
I saw him
opening a door
In the rear
To let in
His own men
And women

Saw him
Bedecking them
With garlands
of those
Whose prayers
He had not answered

His big head
I saw from the atoll
That covered
His feeble conscience
His wide torso
I beheld
That hid
A tiny heart

I was lucky
I saw the door
In the rear;
I was happy
My hands were empty
When I joined
The procession.

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