Tapeshwar Prasad has authored
blend of five surrealistic and realistic poetry books, and has been featured in
Camel Saloon (U.K.), Cordite Poetry Review (Australia), The Aquillrelle Wall of Poetry, Crashing Waves (USA), Scaling Heights (an Anthology on
Contemporary Indian English Poetry), inklinks,
Anthesis, Episteme, Heavenly Hymns,
I am A Poet, Just for you My Love, Kaafiyana,
Resonance, The Significant Anthology, Rhyme with Reason, World Anthology of English Poetry, Acerbic Anthology, Mandela
Tributes, Whispering Winds, Intercontinental Anthology of Poetry on
Universal Peace, Hall of Poets
and many more. He has been included thrice as ICOP: Roll of Honour (U.K.)
Way of the world
I
was not familiar
with
this co-walker on my morning walk
Who
was striding slowly, barefoot
on
a long two tiled bridge -
a
road and the rail lines under it
But,
his act of finishing his thoughts
and
starting it again
drew
me a little closer to him -
and
I nearly paused my steps further
to
listen to his less comprehensible sentences -
Meaningful
et al
I
knew
I
was getting closer to him
by
his truthful utterance -
as
he was slicing it part by part
He
was ragged, and grey of hair
Stinking
badly, but
of
a princely milieu
I
took pause
Under
His guidance
and
thought about the way of the world -
Those
who are self proclaimed rich, have little of their own
Those
who are ragged, have all the wisdom to share
Nothing extra
He
has shawled himself, nakedly
longer
into this thorny chilly nights
with
trembling fingers
bodily
squeezed in cold grip around
Penniless
he survives
the
onslaught of rising inflation:
Edibles
smoulder heavily and a unit
of
blood costs more than a bargain
A
toothless suitor to his own poverty
Pleasantly
he shakes his head quixotically
Shrugging
off reality from his thoughts
Believing
that tomorrow, when his hospital
will
charge a hefty medical bill
He
will promptly reply to his doctor
wagging
his tail:
Was
he not in remembrance, that many a times at the construction site
He
had laboured more to his hospital with sweat and salt
And
demanded nothing extra
Painful riches
She
has been doing it
for
quiet some time
in
the garb of a faint smile
All
these years, and before
She
could strain herself
to
sieve in her pain
Guarding
her happier moments
Lest,
it must not erupt
Wailing
those unforgettable torment
She
would always lure herself
into
a sobering smile, that
on
a casket of painful riches
that
she could trust,
She
could do onto her
What
a lost memory could do
to
herself -
As
she has been doing this
since
her memory was gone
Voices Within-2020 :: Setu, February 2020
