Shreyas Sarasan

Shreyas Sarasan Poems

Shreyas Sarasan Biography

I grew up in a comfortable and supportive household... we were never that rich, but we managed along pretty well. In terms of a family, we are really a well knit group... My mother has had a great influence on me and I consider her one of my few ideals.. Obviously she has faults, but those don't compare with her virtues... I'm just 17 as of today and my poetic streak comes from my father who happens to b a happy go lucky guy, much in contrast with my mother. And I, am a perfect mixture of both, juggling hedonism and idealism is a fight I fight every day. I hope to end it someday... as of now, this same fight fuels me to write, as a lot of my poems are a result of the tension in myself that's resultive of this internal battle...)

The Best Poem Of Shreyas Sarasan

Destiny Beckons

This Man stands,
Teetering on the cliff of destiny...
Two ways are divergin',
Wary though He is...
Enthusiasm pumping like adrenalin;
Thinks if this would last..
All the other ones went by,
Transient and short lived..
Hoping this one doesn't go..
He stands there...
Meant for greatness, but teetering still....
Of lately though, has He come to realize...
What He is, and what He can be..
Setting out to find the inner steel..
A sun ready to blaze into existence..
For He has seen,
The elixir of life today...
To feel life itself,
Pumping in His veins...
To see a bigger purpose..
Alongside the everyday charades...
Of His seemingly enchanted life.
The thrill of having something to work on,
Of facing hurdles and pain...
To simply emerge the victor..
Finally understanding the way to run...
To run, for victory.
In this seeminglessly short life,
To be ignited..
For He wants enthusiasm; Perenial. A life lasting one.
To not live an aimless life,
And to continue to live by this line.

To believe in oneself, is the best thing a Man could do..
Fate is just an illusion..
This Man makes his own luck.

And His own fate lies writ in His hands..
Because fate is not what He takes,
But what He makes...
Striving for a stronger will,
This Man looks on as destiny beckons..
He'll never stop learning.
And He'll never tire..
The two things He's promised himself.

For ignorance might be bliss,
And knowledge a pitcher of sorrow many a times...
It is this very knowledge that guides Him towards Himself.
The knowledge of being sentient, Of being aware...

To be alive,
And to be supreme...
Thats the utter perfection He can become;
But He never shall...
For in satisfaction lies death,
And to be perfect, instead of a boon,
Is much more of a curse...

To keep working, and to keep living living,
His insatiable thirst knows no end..
This longing for himself this Man has...
A divine sensuousness for Himself..
Adhering to no religion,
And thus being a perfect devotee..
Of creation. Of Man himself.
For it is Man himself who's supreme.
And so is his ego.

This Man's not teetering anymore..
For he is sentient...aware...
And... alive.
This Man will walk...
Winding through the rocks and talks of life...
Living and breathing each and every bend,
And thus, on this very cliff;
Will begin this Man's legend.

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