Abhijit Naskar's Blog - Posts Tagged "poet"

You keep calling me a poet,
I embrace the sentiment but not the title.
I may have some power over words,
But the words themselves are nothing valuable.
It's the world behind the words that matters,
A world where all walls collapse and wither.
Once you wake up to that world,
Save human, all other titles disappear.
In that world of oneness you shall discover,
My words are not the real poetry.
My true poetry is your own humanness,
I am but a reflection of your struggling humanity.
So let's get rid of this poet and reader business!
You be my poetry, I'll be your pages.

I just want to write –
that’s all I ever want –
to write, write and write!
The day the words stop coming,
will be my last corporeal night.

Either I shall die by an assassin’s bullet,
or I shall die on my keyboard,
but I refuse to die of old-age and disease.
Death scares those who are scared of life,
I have already lived my life in service.

I live on keyboard, I’ll die on keyboard,
Keyboard is my instrument of illumination.
Nothing short could satisfy my palate –
Give me a keyboard, I’ll give you revolution.

With my keyboard I’ve defended the meek,
With my keyboard I’ve castrated the pricks.
With my keyboard I’ve brought down dictators,
With my keyboard I’ve schooled bigoted pigs.

With my keyboard I’ve raised Gods by hundreds,
With my keyboard I’ve delivered world-builders.
With my keyboard I’ve produced hatebusters,
With my keyboard I’ve raised bulldozers.

Death is but a myth – body dies, not bulldozer;
Body is merely a vessel for the mission.
If you want your ideas to live forever,
You gotta sacrifice your life for a vision.

I never lived as body, but only as a dream –
My life is testament to the dream of united earth.
I don’t have a message, for I am the message –
Sacrifice is beacon, that illuminates the universe.

No such thing as an uncreative heart,
If you are alive, you are creative.
Unless cluttered by status quo,
Every heart is by nature creative.

Heart alive is heart creative,
Creativity is a sign of life.
Uncreativity is pulselessness,
Symptom of a heart anemic of life.

I am not creative, I’m just alive,
Creativity is just a byproduct.
If you don’t impose limits of norm,
Every blood vessel is creation-duct.

Any gargoyle can google
the definition of a sonnet,
Any robot can write and
rhyme 14 lines of a sonnet.

Number of lines don’t make sonnet,
Impeccable rhyme don’t make poetry.
Critics, police and gatekeepers are
usually least capable of originality.

It’s okay if it’s few lines extra,
It’s okay if it’s couple lines less.
It’s okay if it doesn’t rhyme at all,
It’s the soul that matters, not vessels.

You’re welcome to your dead laws of poetry,
while I bring poetry to life, shaping society.

Write till you drop dead,
that’s my motto of writing.
I don’t do promotions,
have never done book signings.

In fact, once I release a work,
I forget and move on to the next.
In an industry driven by book sales,
My principle is, publish and forget.

I never remember how much I have written,
though the vastness is staggering to many.
All I can think of, how much I have to write,
before I drift into the slumber of non-entity.

At birth we become elements to entity,
upon death the entity reverts to elements.
Make sure to make your trip mean something,
more reason to transcend foolish containments.

When I finished my first 1000 sonnets,
I felt, now I shall take it slow.
But now at the finishing of second 1000,
I feel, I gotta write thousands more!

The first thousand took me four years,
the second thousand took me two years,
all without an ounce of industry support,
I am the sole maker of my literary empire.

Sonnets are my vessel of reason,
Sonnets are my bearer of justice.
Sonnets are my medium of divinity,
I’m my sonnets – antidote to malice.

Proof of poetry is in the spirit,
Proof of justice is among the just.
Worlds to unite before I sleep,
Proof of life is in standing guard.

Poetry is a way of life, and nobody
knows the way better than those lost.
And when poetry meets science, there is
nothing more magically potent than that.

Science is a way of sight, and nobody
walks it better than the undoctrinated.
Religion is a way of light, and nobody
lives it better than the undivided.

End of rigidity is the beginning of religion,
end of division is the beginning of divinity.
To acknowledge prejudice is the awakening
of reason, which is the bedrock of curiosity.

Truth of good is truth of God –
there is nothing higher, more divine.
To me faith, science, poetry, all same,
many lanes to lift our one humankind.

Put your conspiracy theories aside, I’ll tell you why.

Pain Fuels My Pen (Sonnet)

When I started writing, I had a partner,
I had plans to settle in Sofia with her.
But then I lost my link to the Balkans, when
she grew weary and took the hand of another.

I couldn’t write a single word for days,
but then, I let the god complex unleashed.
That’s about when my writing skyrocketed,
as the heartbreak jolted my brain
into a hyper-publishing engine.

I had all the time in the world,
and enough pain to fuel my pen.
Every time I got my heart broken,
it benefitted my mission.

First time someone broke my heart,
I dropped out of engineering
and emerged as the Monk Scientist.
Second time when I lost my love,
Planet Earth received the Poet Apocalypse.

The pen is my paradise,
the pen is my grave.
Everybody has all the answers,
I seem to have only questions.

Good thing, I don’t know how to write,
methods are obstacle to my madness.
I’m vast enough to contain the world,
asylum pills don’t work on pilgrim brains.

My pen never runs out of ink, because
the pen is an extension of my anatomy.
Madness is the first sign of sanity,
oneness is the seed of infinity.

Stereotypes are sanity of the jungle,
prejudice is sacred in the animal kingdom.
Flags are the poison, cosmos is (my) kin –
I am no stereotype, I am the Prototype Human.