Wednesday, June 30, 2010

From The Streets of Bihar

From The Streets of Bihar

The streets of Bihar
Are the face of an abstract painting,
The colors of history,
It seems,
Someone has washed away.
Or scrapped with fingernails.

A river has changed its color,
And the sky here is not blue
Tired sky and forgotten rivers.

The morning still basks
In an orange glow
Of a lazy suburban Sun
That fades
In the echoes of night,
Muffled screams.
The day is lost
Pretending deaf.

Fantasy poetry of
Unseen revolutions
Have often knocked
The doors of destiny,
In sweaty envelopes,
To be rewritten in blood…

But eyes have failed
To tell impoverished, meager heroes
From shameless, naked demons.
Reality, sadly,
Is a little gray,
Half lie.

I have often seen
A volcano
Walking on the streets,
Threatening to erupt
On evenings of nothingness.
It never does,
As the radio continues
To ramble shamelessly.

Streets of Bihar still believe
In prayers
With eyes closed.
And dream
Ignorant of a fear
That sits all night
By the bedside.

Streets of Bihar
Have lost their feet
In the race.
They are forgotten leaves
Of autumn.

They are the eyes
Of a frightened child
Who is learning to
Drag his feet
To unwelcome tomorrows.
They just stare.
Like the volcano
That has remained quiet.

(c) Ankur Srivastava

Sunday, June 27, 2010

Timeless Love

Timeless Love

I am quiet.
My mouth is filled
With her warm breath,
And a storm
Of passion.

She whispers in my ears,
A fantasy
Never heard before...

I smile foolishly.
She covers my eyes
With her lashes.
I dream.

Her voice fills
The air around me.
Like the scent
Of her breath.
She says

My heart beats
Are faint and slow.
My world sways
In the gentle breeze
With thousands of butterflies
Of unseen colors.

I promise
To hold her close.
And she is weightless
In my arms,
In my love.

I slept with her
Under an undressed moon.

Her promise,
"Always or never?"

I wake up,
Every single morning,
In her olive eyes,
An eternal lover.


(c) Ankur Srivastava

Monday, June 21, 2010

Rain Poem

It rained yesterday,
After an unending wait
Of summers
Stretched so long.

And I sat
By the window,
To sketch
Each falling drop
The way the earth smiled
Teased by the rains.

Lines that I could read
In the long summer nights
When we sat by our windows
And prayed for rains again.

This evening,
I read the Rain poem,
But the words had been
Washed away,
The lines had turned
Brown again.

There is no poetry in rain,
These days.

Poems are not written...
On little green twigs
That grow in my garden and die
So soon.
About naked children
Running in streets
With joy
Soon to be lost.
Or about maple leaves floating
In pools of muddy water
On broken roads.

There is a woman
On the roadside.
Her skin, brown,
And hair,streaked with dust;
Her eyes are deep
Pits of emptiness.
Her lips are dry
Parched with thirst.

Her husband doesn't speak
These days.
He did smile when it had rained
For a moment,
And then cried
For some nights,
Turned quiet forever.

She sighs and looks
Towards the empty paddy fields.
The roof of her home
Leaks in the rains.
But she cares not.
If only the paddy grows
This year.
Or else?

There is no poetry in rain,
These days.
The woman told me,
"The rains were too little".
It will rain again
I smiled...
"Too late, may be!"
She sighed.

Poems are not written
Sitting by the window
Every time rain tickles
The sad face of earth.

Poems now lies silent,
And brown
Like the earth
After the rain has flirted
And gone back.

When the children
Try  to sleep,
And their eyes are wet
And shallow
Faces brown
Like pools of muddy water
On broken roads.

Poetry tosses and turns
In bed at nights.
It's verses
Are wet with sweat
Mixed with blood.
And lips are sealed

(c) Ankur Srivastava

Sunday, June 6, 2010


To mend that imperfect line,
I look for words again,
A lost poet tries hard,
To dip his love in sea of pain.

If words ever mattered,
I would have found a way,
You walk over the tottered pages,
Where my afraid dreams lay.

My heart beats in stern silence,
I care not for the blessed rhyme,
I have lost my song,
In the noise of indifferent time.

I still love for the sake of love,
And love talks in broken sighs,
Have you noticed the blood,
In my two smiling eyes.

Desperate to lose it all,
I walk to the edge of dark,
I have hoped long to heal,
My wounds remain open and stark.

To mend that imperfct line,
I look for words again,
Why write a poem for you,
Words are destined to go in vain.
(c)Ankur Shrivastava

Thursday, June 3, 2010

6 word stories

Dreams floated in her eyes, misty. 

Bubbles of hope..


My jeans, once blue,

A candle melts before its time. 

Love invites, passion lures... night surrenders!

Dream inspires, hope survives...
Destiny cheats!

A small-town street-fighter with royal blood.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010



I wonder...
When did it start,
And how
Boundaries merged.

I was a liar,
But not to you.
You were shy
But not to me.
You called me a flirt,
Yet, trusted like a child.

Did we begin
With the first "hello"
only after the last "bye"?

I look back
For the moment...
When I found you
In me.

Was it..
When we cried together?
Our stolen giggles?
Or your comforting words?

Why do you trust me?
When did I decide,
To stay by your side,
No matter what?

I try to trace the roots
Of this wonderful friendship
But it goes deeper
Than my soul can reach.

We may be miles away,
But from my evenings
A little lane
Reaches your window.
I know
You are smiling now.
"Do you think
I am flirting?"

At your little door,
This envelope comes
Kissed with love,
From me.

So many things
I still don't know.


When I look back,
I see you!

When I look ahead,
I find you!

(c) Ankur Srivastava

(written 3/6/07
revised: today :)

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

I Sold the Twilight

I Sold the Twilight

The day ended
A crimson love
Gave in.
In twilight.

And birds hurried
Back to their homes.
The sky is not theirs,
Not in this twilight.

Of a lonely boy
In dark.
The boy was lost,
In a dusky twilight.

Your sad face
In the afterglow
Of the evening
I kissed your lips.
With your kohl
Mixed in our tears,
I painted a twilight.

A cup of tea
By the sunset.
The long road
Back home.
And our sweet nothings.
After a tired day.
We wait for the twilight.

I ran once again,
Forwards and backwards
Across an endless sea
Of hope.
And you waited
By the lighthouse...
In the twilight of love.


I sold the twilight.

(c) Ankur Srivastava