Rishit Desai

Rishit Desai Poems

Life in the city is an awful hustle,
We make no time to look around;
Must complete a task to start anew that second,
Even the comforting bed is now a battleground.

If the path before you is clear,
It may be your eyes but definitely another's mind;
If you know what you are looking for,
Then that is all you will ever find.

You gave us legs, we trampled the earth,
You gave us hands, now we kill since birth;
You gave us eyes, but not the sight,
You gave us speech, now we speak to fight;

The day I was born was not just another night,
The stars were all aligned, neither bull nor scorpion put up a fight;
What better beginning than to let the moon govern your tide,
It is not good enough to just have one’s mother by his side.

It is January now and I hate the dryness,
Her dove-like eyes entice me with their shyness;
I hope and pray this month to be dear,
O! Why did I fall in love this time of the year?

Scorpions bite
Without a hiss;
Some bugs bite
Along with a kiss.

In adversity and for pity
I can see her drops appear;

But why use them for deceit

Thetis held Achilles by his heel and dipped him in the Styx,
Gandhari's vision made Duryodhana impervious, but for his Fix;

A Mother may try all to shape His destiny and fate,

The one thing that makes me proud
Is my Ignorance, That I don't need to fake;
The more I read, the more I learn
makes me certain, That no one can take.

Aditya marched
Several hundred of them two
Followed their king or was it the beat
Of the golden drums that played

With the sun shinning I could see no stars, no bodies, not even my beloved moon,
Have they been eaten by this vulture, beast, is this the day of doom?

No! not at all, they're all right there, albeit this distraction between them and me,


Fire melts iron with iron,
So also discerns the taint from gold;
May it merge with me my love,
Isolate the evil which keeps me cold.

Rishit Desai Biography

A student of Sanskrit and Philosophy. Also write essays on contemporary philosophy. You can read them on rishitthinks.blogspot.in)

The Best Poem Of Rishit Desai

The Cobbler

Life in the city is an awful hustle,
We make no time to look around;
Must complete a task to start anew that second,
Even the comforting bed is now a battleground.

This morning was like all the rest,
Who but cares for the cuckoo's nest;
Heart was just another muscle today,
Didn't vex nor pain for the grieving breast.

Eager to catch the first train out,
A push and a nudge bereft of a bout;
Time is a treasure never found in abundance,
To steal a moment is ever the key essence.

In some such days I did find success,
Found a few seconds and a task to attend;
In front of me was this diligent craftsman,
He laboured while I spoke to my friend in Phnom Penh.

He rubbed and brushed and polished my shoes,
Put in all his effort, made them shine like new;
While he then got busy and his tools did he rearrange,
I lauded his effort with disgustingly small change.

So much did I like his work,
That i went to him on occasions many;
Amazing was his love for my leather,
In sun or snow or the floody weather.

Now that I think, there was never between us a conversation,
Face to face makes me coy, such is our civilization;
Wonder what changes me when spoke unabated on phone,
Whilst he worked with his tools I played with my own.

Some went to him to shine,
Some went to mend a hole;
Gave everyone the stitch they deserved,
Be it leather, wood or simply a rubber sole.

The sun ceased its role long ago,
But never did it bother me;
My work went into the night,
The setting one was never for me to see.

Today was but a little different, Lo! beholden,
Cam to the station this time untrodden;
Sinking sun still shone the sky a golden,
Disembarked the same platform, That which was boustrophedon.

Saw the repairman sitting all alone,
As if waiting for someone whilst his hair windblown;
Packed and ready to go were his many-a-tool,
Couldn't figure out what was holding up his schedule.

Stood and watched him pass his time,
So did I as smoke my face atone(d):
He played with the dog or was it the other,
Who derided the shoeman as if a bone.

The next few seconds left me shell-shocked,
In these few seconds my whole life was mocked;
In these few seconds every knit of my veins unravelled,
Left me still, motionless on this platform so often travelled.

Came this youth I took him for his son,
Sat down in front of the ol' man with his back complete;
Laboured limbs latched around with joy and fun,
Piggy back he rode, Alas! ! ! The Cobbler had no feet.

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