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Best Poems Written by Shivam Murari

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Dear Best Friend

Shivam Murari's Poetry
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Universe

Date : Whenever You Read It.

Dear Best Friend,
How have you been?
I hope you're doing fine.
Haven't heard from you since.

I've been going down
That ol' memory lane.
Thinking about how
All of it began.

No. Neither to our friendship,
Nor to our spot-tree.
But to the knife,
That you used to stab me.

Pushing me down
Was your dire necessity.
To cover your own flaws,
Draw curtains over insecurity.

You mocked at my condition,
My diligence, my tireless run.
Spread your venom of lies
Filled the ears of my loved ones.

Naïve as I was,
I befriended you in every phase.
Unaware of the dark vile,
That hid behind your white face.

While I pulled you out of
The vicious death well,
You pushed me down the same.
Reciprocated so well!

You feigned guilty face,
Every time you were in need.
But band aids don't fix bullet holes
Here's a rant of your deed.

RAP verse

You talk that talk behind my back
I dare you now, look into my eyes
Now speak again, lemme hear you splash
Can't speak a word? Ran out of lies?
Or is it your dumb inferiority
Matching up to your insecurity
Imma let you speak, but you're empty
Better yet than your fake charity
Now listen up douche, hold yourself back
Get your issues towed up in a line
Did you lose the count? Couldn't even start?
My dear best friend now pay the fine.

So here's to burst your bubbles

You pulled the rug out beneath my feet
Thinking that I might fall.
Let me tell you, though unsuspecting,
I jumped before your call.

So goodbye.
Fare well.
Wish you all the luck.
And to your future victims too.

Regards!

Your non-victimized best friend
Shivam Murari.

Now check out a more detailed version of this and other poems of mine on my blog, just a click away. You can also find the inside scoop, inspiration and behind the scenes of this poem on my blog:

http://shivammurarispoetry.blogspot.in/2015/08/dear-best-friend.html

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To Draupadi

[Disclaimer: The poem does not intend to hurt anybody’s religious sentiments. It is purely for the purpose of entertainment, art and awareness.]

[Note : - If you don’t know who is Draupadi, follow the link given below the poem to find out]

You are not a s**t.
You are not a w**re.
You are not what people think.
You don’t deserve the abhor.

You didn’t choose polyandry,
It was a nonsensical fate.
A man’s sly desire,
But you get all the hate.

We hail Karn’s sacrifices.
We all feel his pain.
He is held like a hero.
Your go in vain.

When the rules of a game
Became bigger than your honour.
The respected men, shame,
Pushed humanity to a corner.

Turned a deaf ear to your screams
As you were disrobed to their gaze.
The honourable men errant extremes
But dirt is shoved in your face.

A symbol of rape victim
S**t shamed by the society.
A fodder of the chauvinists,
A pacifier of their insecurity.

But you don’t need our sympathy,
You are fire in disguise.
The sexism,however, is thriving
So I incessantly despise.

You are not a s**t.
You are not a w**re.
You are not what people think.
You don’t deserve the abhor.

Now read a more detailed version of my poems, find out "behind the scenes", inspiration, in depth story and a lot more ONLY ON MY BLOG. Follow the link and support

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PS - I hope you understand the reason why two cuss words have been used in the poem. They are not for the purpose of spreading profanity but instead to slap the words back on the face of the sexists who call those names to Draupadi. I meant to use those words without asterisk for better effect, but I will abide by the rules and let the poem's effect depreciate a bit.

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Bye, Miss U

"
I have memories of this place.
I made friends.
I made enemies.
I lived within the walls of this block.
In the corridor.
In the bathroom.

When I leave, I'll leave my mark.
On the walls.
On the doors.
My name, my message, with the marker.
'Bye, Miss U :('
'I will miss you, always.'

But don't think it's limited to these marks.
There are some other stuff that I would do.
I'm gonna write 'Don't Forget Us'.
And I'll make sure you don't do too.

I'll lock the almirah, flush the keys.
Take off the plug outlet of the geyser.
Cut the wires, set them free.
Break the commode, it's just a teaser.

Mind if I shut all the doors from inside?
Giving you a hard time opening them up.
Sufficing my sadistic mental disability.
'Hostel assistant? Warden? Wassup?!'

I'll steal, I'll destroy and cause you wounds.
'Cause for no reason I'm angry at you.
Weren't you already annoyed when I was here.
So I'll leave some marks that stick like glue.

My boys, my pals and the days we had had.
Memorable to bits, their dedication to cue.
I'm gonna miss the times we spent.
(And how I secretly spoilt them too. ;) )
"
Tut Tut. * Sigh * 

Now check out a more detailed version of this and other poems of mine on my blog, just a click away. You can also find the inside scoop, inspiration and behind the scenes of this poem on my blog:

http://shivammurarispoetry.blogspot.in/2015/10/bye-miss-u.html

Thank you for reading. 

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Details | Shivam Murari Poem

A Tide Or a Pool

The photo album speaks a story,
A life full of esteem and glory.
Put in chronological order
Might have been a psychological disorder. 

A frail pale body
You could picture it in your head.
Tall maybe his height
But his hands were red.
 
From being his parent’s imperfect boy
To being his class’s imperfect student,
Didn’t make much difference to him
Except for messing of the ingredient.  
 
He adsorbed pride
But insecurity found vestibule.
From outside he was a tide
Within he was a dirty pool.
 
Succeeded in making followers,
Who praised and supported when he fell weak
Would pick on every other innocent
Had the idea that this would hide his streak.
 
Dying, crying, fighting and lying,
The tails tried their best to suffice
But when the reality dawned on the retinue
They had already stepped on the precipice!  
 
Fell with their master and burst on the floor
Traits evaporated from within the core.
Followers produced devotion
Master was all about commotion.

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The Ending

No more excitement of a new section
No more thrill of new friends
No more fear of losing besties
No more drama of classmates
No more getting up early
No more doing home works
No more cracking on old jokes
No more embracing friends.
No more school….

 
On this last day of my schooling
I sit on my messy bed
With a paper and a pen
And no idea in my head
 
I use poems to release emotions
But today I couldn’t find any
Or maybe I couldn’t grasp one
For there are way too many.
 
There are no teardrops on my paper
Did something ruin my love
Did the past two years torture too much
Or maybe I just have had enough
 
But wait! I do have memories
A kid of 4 feet 5.
Heaving a blue coloured bag
Still so innocent and naïve.
 
As I clear up the mess a bit
I think of class six
How he failed to recognize Aria
And how a classmate put him in a fix.
 
The apparent heart aches and breaks
The common teenage pang
Of which he was totally unaware
Or had he been ignorant twang?
 
Before he learned to face iota
‘He had to confront humiliation
For mistakes that didn’t exist.
Knocking voices and vibration

Enter Asif and Divyanshu
The ones who stayed through all phase.
Through the joys and the arguments
Through the lonely maze.




Sorry the pen fell down.
Now as I pick it up
I fast forward to the point
Which sticks stale in the cup.
 
Has a friend named Vikram
Several lessons from whom I took
Taught me the reality of life
Was way too different from Ethics book.
 
The last two years are the ones
I would really never talk about
Deleting them from my memories.
Assuming their absence, no doubt.
 
Now he is 5 feet 8
Reminiscing his gradual growth
It is the time to say good bye
And leave foot prints on sand froth.
 
Shall the words remain
The aura of love I’m sending
With a sense of analogy
I give the poem the ending.

Details | Shivam Murari Poem

Facebook Likes

Sun revolves around the Earth,
Isn’t that a curious phenomenon?
There are rules and laws since I’ve taken birth
You have to follow, you can’t run.
 
Within my mother’s womb, as a foetus
I floated from one wall to another.
Now the entwining rules eat us
The prodigious list only grows longer.
 
For the brotherhood is neither meringue
Nor the notes of a mezzo
Where has the love gone, I rue,
Locate it, I’ll find the boat to row.
 
There can be no discipline, no love,
Until the conscience strikes
It would neither come from twitter followers,
Nor from facebook likes!

Details | Shivam Murari Poem

Gifts Ultra Rare

 Folded in cloth, her eyes did shine
Parabola shifted by pi, ‘the daughter is mine’
Said in front of others,
How did you feel inside?
Okay let’s make a confession
It was on mother’s guide.
 
The girl grew up,
As broadens a brook.
Papa followed Mama,
She had a beautiful look.
 
Mama hugged the life
Papa was reluctant
But the daughter believed in him
Someday, he too would be resilient.
 
Then occurred an accident,
Mother had to go.
Daughter was left with father
And he got a blow.
 
Papa, papa, she said
In everything that followed.
Little did she know,
She would never be endowed.
 
Then 10 years later,
At 4 o’ clock in evening,
Daughter didn’t come home
The thought itself was aching.
For maybe he didn’t want her
He was a dad within
Was it already too late?
Got a rush of adrenaline.
 
Went to the police,
Took help of a neighbor
Nothing came in hand,
Except the morning newspaper.
 
"10 year old, raped and murdered"
Stood the headline distinct.
The face was translucent,
But the apparel succinct.
 
Dressed in mourning stands,
He who didn’t care.
Daughters are not a burden
They are gifts ultra rare.
Respect them, accept them,
Without them, the world is despair.

Details | Shivam Murari Poem

Asking My Keys Back

ASKING MY KEYS BACK

You found the keys to my heart
Unlocked the door walked in.
You dusted off the unused house,
Opened the windows, let it begin.

You set up the gas stove, cooked delicacies.
The aroma of your love, spread throughout.
Crease on the carpet, you straightened.
The ones that had accumulated without.

Then came the night, when you wore the dress
Spread the rose petals, set the bed.
Lights were turned off; it was pretty dark.
Yet, for the first time, my heart glowed bright red.

The house that had never been inhabited,
Was finally full, satisfied, well-fed.

The twist of fate, but, came uninvited
A storm shook up our roots, leaving us bereft.
You turned off the light, closed the windows,
Packed your bags, locked the door and left.

Each time I sent a note your way
The sound echoed back with no effect.

But you still have the keys to my heart.
You left it frothing and hopeful to claim.
The house is still owned by you
Even though it’s not on your name.

So now I’m asking my keys back,
Let someone open the door to the rain.
The void is relentlessly painful.
Let it get inhabited again.


If you like this poem, check out a more detailed and better version of this and other works of mine on my blog. You may also find the inside the scoop, inspiration, technique of writing for your intrigue on the blog, just a click away

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Details | Shivam Murari Poem

I Don'T Love You

I DON'T LOVE YOU (I JUST LIKE YOU)

You keep staring
From the corner of your eyes.
You look at me,
While I’m looking away.
When I look back,
You shudder and retreat.
Both of us know
What you are doing.

You drop hints about your love for me.
Come close, egg me into proposing you.
But you can’t make me fall in love.
‘Cause it’s clear that I don’t love you.

I just like you child-like smile,
You innocent gaze,
Your caught-in-the-act
And then embarrassed phase.
The movement of your hands,
Stealing sights a few,
Giving a side glance,
I just like you.

Your friends,
They know all about this.
They are helping you
Bridge the gap between us.
Trying to get us
Into talking,
Trying to develop
The love that they can’t.

I might try to test the water.
Go close, then hold myself back.
No you can’t make me fall in love.
‘Cause I know that I don’t love you.

I just like your black spects,
Your glad days,
Your showing off
And then shocked face.
The sound of your voice,
The deep red hue
On your swollen cheeks,
I just like you.

No! This is not possible.
Not letting my guard down.
I’m preoccupied with my goals.
Love is the last thing on my mind.

You could climb the stepping stones to my heart,
Only to find a deserted mountain peak.
No you can’t make me fall in love.
It’s sorted out that I don’t love you.

I just like your child-like smiles,
Your innocent gaze,
Your caught-in-the-act
And then embarrassed phase.
Your leather jacket,
Your brown hair too,
Your tied plait,
I just lov---- like you.

Now check out a more detailed version of this poem on my blog here:

http://www.shivammurarispoetry.blogspot.in/2015/06/i-dont-love-you-i-just-like-you.html

Also, find my other works and inside scoops, "BEHIND THE POEMS" and a lot more on my blog, just a click away.

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Details | Shivam Murari Poem

Touch Elder's Feet

Beta, take the tea to the drawing room
First comb your hair and make a respectful smile
Serve the tea and touch their feet
Respect your elders, that is Indian style.
 
Heard my mother, as I always heed
Did the task, but it was a task indeed.
But a question had got stuck amiss
And it wouldn’t get off, until I wrote this.
Is the respect in the union of our hand and their feet,
Or is it in the sincere, honest and heartfelt greet?
 
“Youth is spoilt,” elders always complain,
“This isn’t modernity,” I don’t refrain.
Touching elder’s feet does no harm
It has been our culture since the time of Lord Ram.
But what is the meaning of the culture
If there is no respect in the heart,
We need to have the feeling
And not the idol on the cart!

[NOTE :

Though the poem is about an Indian culture, but it has just been taken as a symbol for many other cultures in many other regions and religions which are blindly considered by their followers as being 'good' without reflecting about it. The lack of acceptance of new ideas have also been dealt with.

GLOSSARY - 
Beta (Hindi) = son
spoilt = spoiled
Lord Ram = A Hindu God.]