the process of feeling,hurting and healing

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  • swetarupa1 3d


    Sink, a thirst less endeavour,
    Fake, a plight full goose,
    Way underneath the depths,
    Of arise, awake and sleep.

    Mist, in the clearest skies,
    Blue in its deeper shades,
    Black, a kingly love,
    Red, lives and blood.

    Heat, got to you, dear friend,
    Race till end of the lane,
    What you found, joyless rain
    Just deep breath and mad brains.

    Worth, a defying temptress,
    Labels goals and dreams unless,
    Desire and want reign,
    Over few feeble gains.

    Wait, tries a lot,
    Pushes bodies in mud,
    Hanging by a branch,
    Till it pulls some and drops the rest.

    Stay, the one thing I know,
    But only in the ones that you can,
    Till the trenches hunt all,
    But your body breathes in every fall.

    - Swetarupa Mishra

  • swetarupa1 1w

    The Humped

    The humped roams the world,
    Sees creatures beyond,
    Loves innocent blood,
    Yet never feeds on one.

    It once lost her way in the woods,
    As it struggled through its unstable moods,
    But the wild is as rough as it cares,
    Can consume or accomodate as it feels.

    Its devotion was threatened by pangs of hunger,
    With sinking sun, and rising fear,
    Vision became erratic, red was on its mind,
    Just a prey was all it wanted to find.

    The brook attracts naive amateurs,
    So was a little girl with plump features,
    Yet the trees trapped her too,
    Just to see what the fate was upto.

    Meanwhile, the famished beast runs mad,
    In all that looks dark and sad,
    Until the sight of the child,
    Stuck it strong, yet its conscience mild.

    As steps forward, beats surge in pace,
    Black nights and a hunted race,
    Just the child turns to look into its eyes,
    Hunger and passion loose their ties.

    Nobody looked at this humped creature before,
    Look and love at sight came true,
    Embraced in arms of pure affection ,
    A beast never, neither turned one stays in fiction.

    - Swetarupa Mishra

  • swetarupa1 1w

    Bird of your own sky

    Abide and reside,
    What a suicide,
    An opposite reaction,
    An abominable action.

    No, not you, the world.
    Just a little world.
    Has the sky ever been shy?
    Has always let its cloud pour in open.

    Has the earth ever questioned that?
    Ever discarded the drops of bliss,
    The gentle sweep of rain wind.
    Why then, this world?

    Forget the pouring, what about the thunder?
    Has land rejected it?
    Ocean rebuked it?
    Or Earth abandoned it?

    Every little thunder has its freedom.
    Then why not a voice as you?
    Why not a view of yours?
    An experience of yours.

    Well, some toads never turn as a prince,
    As not every fairytale says it be so,
    But you, my dear, are a raven king,
    A bird of your own sky, master of wider universe.

    - Swetarupa Mishra

  • swetarupa1 2w

    Sea to my Shore

    What is it that I look for?
    The sea asked.
    The same coming and going,
    Living and dying.

    The shore lie still,
    In wind's murmur,
    Found a voice,
    A moist rhythm.

    In its soft tune, caressed the sea,
    Didn't let it leave this time,
    The tide stayed,
    They talked.

    You know I always look for you to come back,
    I yearn for you to bash against me,
    Spread your wet arms over me,
    And take me to your embrace.

    The sea blushed, its waves fluttered,
    I return to you, no death can do us part,
    Yet every moment without pains me,
    Consumes me and leaves me faded.

    Till your castles call out to me,
    To play and stay, for a second say,
    But just touch your horizon,
    And live in just that moment.

    The time has come for the waves to retrace,
    The hands to be left alone,
    But heartstrings be the same,
    Till we meet again.

    - Swetarupa Mishra

  • swetarupa1 2w

    The Other World

    Laden in floral abundance,
    Let to its peak of floroscence,
    Blissful rains and warming sun,
    Glacier and deserts' perfect combination.

    Love, pleasure, smiles and peace,
    Just like a star struck saturday in place,
    Coming in of spring after the extreme,
    Beauty and bounty in their riches.

    Yet a heavy hand pulls me out,
    Shakes me and slaps me,
    Spills water and screams,
    'Wake up!', the voice bellows.

    What is that world that just drew me?
    Is it real, is it not?
    I woke up to sleep
    And disappear into the other World.

    - Swetarupa Mishra

  • swetarupa1 2w

    The Wrecked

    How does the wrecked feel like?
    Is it all rotten and smelly?
    Is it even eaten by flies?
    Does anyone really care?

    I took to it one dark morning,
    Withstood against mad moaning,
    At last I could see its visage,
    One that had once been twinkle of stars.

    Now it dripped like the sewage pipes,
    That face of lovely glow,
    Now had much less skin to notice,
    Just tears marking their territory all-over.

    In scattered, ragged pieces of clothing,
    Waiting for its intimacy to be snatched,
    Lay there the wrecked,
    In plague's epicentral statue.

    But it rose to some unthought power,
    Had some light through the crack,
    For it transformed to a pole star,
    Once that wrecked saw itself as 'one'.

    I took to my shelter,
    In my slumber did I see that wrecked,
    Felt enough it stayed in me,
    But not as me.

    - Swetarupa Mishra

  • swetarupa1 3w

    They do, We, don't

    What is it that is loud enough?
    What is it that is able enough?
    Thunders howl in midnight skies,
    But why does the lightning feel bad?

    Does the moon have to shine as bright as the sun...
    To get the world's notice, to get itself established?
    Do the sunflowers have to bloom better than roses...
    For them to be considered love metaphors?

    Do the rivers have to cry aloud to be as big as oceans?
    Do the days and nights have to fight and die in their race to dominate?
    Do they really have to outshine?
    Is there really a need to be lined up as another star?

    Why can't the moon have its own way for a change?
    Why can't the sunflower love the way it blooms?
    Why can't the rivers flow to their natural rhythms?
    Why can't days and nights coexist in peace?

    They do. We, don't.

    - Swetarupa Mishra

  • swetarupa1 3w

    Little Object

    Little object that breathes,
    Not air, but strength,
    Its paper, my hands,
    Its cover, my hope.

    Little object that says no more,
    But words of wisdom,
    And spreads wings of freedom,
    Transcending weakness to wits.

    Little object, once left me alone,
    In the black mud, to be consumed,
    In the salt lake to be eaten by predators,
    In the wild thoughts, to be dead inside.

    Now, I rest my hand on its strong memory,
    As my demons rise to take me,
    Into the hell hole that I once escaped,
    With a little object pulling me up.

    ~ Swetarupa Mishra

  • swetarupa1 3w

    Let it be

    When the chorus sang,
    The mid girl skipped the tune,
    Yet her innocence is light in adult's dark,
    So, the Chorus let it be.

    When the earth created little big humans,
    Some strangled it and left it to decay,
    While some still fought to rescue,
    So the Earth still lets us be.

    When the sky lets the clouds rain,
    Some black clouds harrassed its beauty,
    But the other ones rained to clear the dirt,
    So, the Sky lets the black clouds be.

    When the ocean quivers at the centre,
    Some raging monster destroys all mankind,
    But the storm is a reality check,
    So, the Ocean lets it be.

    When the flower lets the bee suck the sweet,
    Some bees sting and some leave scars,
    But they keep the flower race going,
    So, the Flower lets it be.

    When the tree bends under the pressure of fruits,
    Some break its branches and some leave it out of shape,
    But they feed people and add glory to its motherland,
    So, the Tree lets it be.

    When people come and go,
    We let some stay and we let some leave,
    Coz the sent-received mechanism sometimes works and other times not,
    But we let the Life Process be.

    - Swetarupa Mishra

  • swetarupa1 4w

    Waiting for You

    I go mad without you.
    Do you know that?
    Do the oceans call you?
    The way I yearn for you.

    Do the lights shine on you?
    The way you glow on me.
    Do these fruits feel sweet?
    The way you taste to me.

    Do the thorns prick you?
    The way you make me bleed.
    Do the rains wet you?
    Like you water my horizons beyond.

    Does the time make you wait?
    Like you clutch my patience in your purse.
    Doesn't it pain you..
    To make me miserable until you arrive?
    Does it?

    - Swetarupa Mishra