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Best Poems Written by Akash Yadav

Below are the all-time best Akash Yadav poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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'twas All Wild

‘’twas all wild—All wind, All shores:
Seas were brewing savage storms;
Rambling clouds were moving thunder—
Thunder herself, did her chores…
 With white, foaming, briny waters—
The fleet of men crossing them—
Howling Capes and crowing Bergs
That ever saw trespassing them,
Witnessed the lot being washed—
The visor of Mercy being cracked…

The howling, screaming, deathly Play
Waited the time Night approached
To aide—to rescue hacked and chopped
With farewell bid to the angered Day:
Time now when the Rivers—joining hands
(That had shrieked and showed their might)
No more chid the juvenile Bank—
Traveled course in faded light,
Whilst the strength of Fury lay
To tell Quiet of squandered Peace…

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A Sand Dune Says To the Wind

A sand-dune says to the wind that moves
Softly, passing him-by:
''Take me with thee, through valleys and groves
Whence birds frolick and fly;
Deep into a land of rain and snow,
Is where I'd rather go,
For this place holds no charm and I say,
I'm wont to fly away...''

Hearing which, the whirl-wind lifts
Herself to swiftly glide,
Whilst in fear, the sand-dune shifts,
Seeking somewhere to hide:
But before another gust, like a child feeling quite lost,
Is strewn about the sullen land by the one he did accost....

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The Potter and the Clay

The Potter, drenched in his noon-day sweat,
Sat hunched, cursing his fate;
The Clay which he fiddled with now
And the wheel he made to rotate,
Found him saddedned by a thought--
Saddened by his inward urge:
Should he make two separate 
figures?
Or should they be merged?

Straining softly his fingers, first
He carved out a beautiful girl:
She thought how worthy she was made--
On her toes she did twirl..
With another piece of that clay,
The Potter's hands so swift,
Carved-out a man--a handsome Prince,
To be her Worthy gift...

The Sun drenched already the life of him,
And fused it in the clay--
The God-like Potter who played some more,
Thought of it this way.

Now both of them, kept in the Sun--
She'd dance and he'd play...
Soon love came-in at first sight,
But these pieces of clay,
Fell into a trap of envy and
Began the struggle to live--
Both knew of what is their's to take--
None ever learns to give....

Meanwhile the Maker, seeing them crack,
Frowned in great dismay,
Quickly picked up, merged them both
To a single ball of clay:
He thought again, what went wrong
And spun the wheel anew
'Should I make a single figure
Or should I remake the two?'

The Clay, still spinning in itself,
Knew It wanted none;
'Let life of Strife be not mine,
Pray let me stay as one....'

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Monkey Business

I once got myself a monkey
(God knows what breed his was).
He was black, with dark, big eyes--
A devil-thing you could never pass.

Pearly-teeth shone in his mouth,
When you but pleased this thing;
We'd get-along well together,
(Me thought we could do with some training)
And, I tried teaching him
And taught him little tricks,
But my word! The poor thing,
Got rounded in the basics:

A few things of course, took him time,
While others, he could never learn:
Like when I said,"Sit Marcel",
He'd start to jump up and run...!
(Which wasn't quite the big deal,
For he was still learning what to do)
At least it was better than
When his filth I found in my shoe!

I coached him about 'toilet-culture'--
Taught him where men with a pot always rushed;
When that one day, on missing  my spects,
I found them only being flushed...

Nonetheless, we glued well as pals,
But for a diner's calamity:
When I ask him once,"Get me that rice",
He sat on the tray and chose to pee!

He sought a perch upon my head
So I always had unkempt hair;
He'd sit, digging deep and hard,
I don't know for what thing up there.
(A small cheery, childish thing,
He'd always place himself with me)
But if he'd not torn my favourite shirts,
I say, I'd be much, much happy...

We used to talk as great pals: 
He'd face me then, and play his part,
Although upon losing interest,
He'd slap me, scratch me, and cut me short!

This training and all friendliness,
Sure made each grow fond of the other
When I realized, he had to leave somehow
(Leaving  me to shrug and shudder):

As a final mischief of his,
He'd got himself in a dirty puddle,
Then placed himself in the cupboard,
Disturbing order to a state of muddle...!
When that I asked him to get down,
He looked at me somewhat askance;
As if he knew what it was--
The unpleasant thing that had come to chance...

The grin on that face I was to miss 
I know--the parting was like Hell...
He knew not what would change for us,
I still miss good ol'Marcel...

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Limerick I

There was once a funny old-man,
Who wore for a hat, a flimsy pan,
Every Christmas he'd turn blue--
Out of cold, cough and flu--
And eat his beans from a can!




*My first attempt at a Limerick*

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What's Gone, Is Gone

Something starts as a happy spark
You never know what to call it:
Oh, you go on to nurture it,
You embrace it, feed it--
While also nursing a pleasant feeling--
You see it bloom,
You see it growing
And then before you know,
Ashes just remain...

You touch it,
Cry over it,
But what's gone is now gone
Never to come back;

What good can the dead past bring
When it's gone, never to come back?

So brace yourself up dear soul
And carry on the song you sing;
Smile and become whole again,
For that's a certain thing:
Pain is but a state of the mind
Sadness only a myth

Why grieve over the unsure,
Why grieve over a myth?

A state of mind can be changed
Sadness you cannot forever fawn
Thus, face yourself now dear soul
Because what's gone is gone.....

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The Parijat

"Hindus" that call themselves,
Regard It as a holy tree
Which alighted from the sky--
Originated from the churning of sea;
One of the fourteen 'Ratnas'
I happened to have a look at,
Which has as its guardians,
A bunch of bearded religiocrat:

Whilst I was nearby it,
I looked at it as I'd at any other grove;
Not even once it occurred to me--
The thought of its sanctity--
I was in a state of emptiness;
I had only come here to enjoy Nature;
This is when I made a move...

...Insensitive to anything but blissful greenery
Prevalent all around,
I made a jump to pluck off a leaf--
Just overhead,
And lo!there were issuing sounds
From the mouth of the sagacious,
And miscalculated words were hurled
For me as a curse...
But what could I do?I stood there,
In an imprudent fashion and kept smiling
At the miserable state of their thoughts:
They abused and mouthed obscenities,
They asked me if I was Indra
Or an inhabitant of  Swarga--
The abode of the Holy tree--
I had no answers and no other expressions
Tried to cross my face--
I smiled and looked at them
In a state of serene calmness...
By the by, I took a look at the Parijat,
That Arjuna had summoned to earth;
Then I witnessed the blue heavens
And walked away as another  gust of wind
That had rustled the leaves on the Sacred Tree...

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Pillage...And Peace

Upon a dead mound of rocks,
Approached a man, a horse,
With armored chest and visored face:
Well-shielded all across.
Looking back, he gestured motion
Then there was a shout
Of thundering voices in a parley--
Hark! A battle roust...!!

On and on went blade and sword:
Smote against smote;
The same action was followed as if,
The kill was conn'd by rote...
Insane, the enemy on which they charged,
Was forced to run amok;
A blow here and a blow there,
Death ceased those with less luck...

All at once--all was shaken,
All was left asunder;
Disaster had struck this land of dread,
Now all was left in plunder...:

No more of the smiling parched faces,
Covered in sandy gear;
No more were there happy looks--
None happiness left to bear...
They'd made a sudden chance
On those men, women and kid;
While none left to mourn askance--
The afterward's left placid...

The dead were being searched for life:
All alive left, were killed;
The loot was being gathered up--
The gathering hands were skilled..

A subtle cry was then heard,
And a hand was with hope raised;
The General turned around that way,
Scanned and sternly gazed...

It was here that he came down--
The horse he did unmount;
He neared the dying soldier's cry,
Then plunged his sword in ground...
A softer moan filled the air,
As steel pierced a mesh;
The bleeding heart bled some more,
They'd met--Blood, Steel, Sand and Flesh...

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Twenty-Nine In One Stroke!*

"He is brave and a warrior fine--
In a stroke, killed twenty-nine!"
Thus went word from town to town,
Only to come back around...
"A better man there be none,
Seekest thou a finer one?"

Crept-in a common sight of doubt:
Who's it they talk about...?

"'tis the Tailor from this land--
He hath the strength of Heracles' hand--
There he goes, tall and proud..."
Seeing whom, approached the crowd.

"Tell us, O Courageous one,
How didst that you have done?"
"Tell us, tell us!"cried the throng
Only to shroud his path along:
"I know not what 'tis ye talk,
I'm in a hurry, ye impede my walk.."

"Don't be humble, tell us about't",
Jumped up He, whilst all shout't;
"I will tell what you want to know,
About what, tell me though...!"
"Tell about your twenty-nine",
Sang all folk in a line:

"The Twenty-Nine",so he thought,"that I kill'd,
For me an éclat this has built..."
"I am glad I talk to you all,
Of this emprise--this caterwaul...
When on a fine, wintry morn,
I sat sewing pieces worn,
There came a lady selling jam",
He gazed,"I called--Ay, ma'am!--
Who, sensing a prospective buyer,
Told she had the best of Shire",
Again he stopped, all looked rapt:
"So I bought what I thought apt;
Now then, I stitch and stitch and sew,
There's buzzing-humming and the numbers grow",

He saw they'd still eager eyes:
"That's when I strike at the flies!
And behold--I kill 'em folk,
I kill Twenty-Nine in a stroke!!..."
_______________________________
*it is based on a story i once read as a child...though its plot was different, my poem just derives the 'tailor' and the initial 'killing spree' from the original story to combine with my own ideas..all comments appreciated...

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The Rebellion of '57

'''tis Power that rules men,not men--
When they but have misused
That Power, to abduct their soul--
For It then stands abused.''

So at such time when Anguish
With rage, had undone
The bonds that with-held the blaze
In hearts of everyone,
To over-throw the unjust rule,
There was an uprise; To win-over our Liberty,
There was The Uprise...:

A feeble Nation rose to fore,
To fight the unjust Company,
And India--She rose in uproar--
Indians rose to mutiny. 

With swords and shields, hearts of gold,
A clan of Warriors rose,
Against a mighty cannon-force,
The Clan of Warriors rose. 

Here, wars were waged, There battles won,
With valour-ridden thought;
Then lives were lost in the field
'gainst the forces of distraught. 

The final picture was of Death--
Of the stabbed, the beaten and bruised,
For against gun and mortar-bolt
Sword and stick was used.....