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Best Poems Written by Shourya Shrivastava

Below are the all-time best Shourya Shrivastava poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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It's All About The Stars

It’s all about the stars,
That starry dark sky.
Its all about the stars,
As novas die, the nebulae cry.
Its all about them,
When they glint starlight.
And then it’s about them,
That aesthetic night flight.

Those stars steer me through the lonely space,
Those which lend in wailing phase.
Those stars that hold until death does apart.
For those stars, I do cross my heart.
Those stars that illuminate the very black with shine
Those stars which create that heaven which is mine.
For these are the stars, I shall carry to my shrine.

Do keep those stars which shine ever so bright,
For if it weren’t for those, 
What good is the light?
What good is the night?

Copyright © Shourya Shrivastava | Year Posted 2019



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Martyr : The Pulwama Attack

The tricolour wrapped around your might,

And you drift away to your very last night.

The tears that we shed,

Can never match your gallant blood red.

For you dont speak only for sake

You speak to put your life at stake

For the child that is unborn,

And the nation that is now forlorn.

For the eyes that await

That fatalize with thoughts of your fate.

For the family that did wait

Dreaded by images of your lifeless state.

And for every one out there aback

With terror and explosions that make the earth crack.



Assure you, we do,

Our souls ignite with your pyre too

With the fire of rage, fury and justice

And against those who use terror to veil cowardice

Assure you, we do,

Never to forget this detonation

That shook the world, shook our holy nation

The nation that can sure give it back

The rightful answer to this hidden attack

And when it does, for it surely will,

They'll know the difference between a coward and a warrior

That they dread still.



Today, when the eye beholds you sleep,

It cannot help but only weep

But as its white pearls roll down the spirit,

The rage intensifies every passing minute.

The pledge to answer back has been taken

Reminisce the earlier times they've been shaken.

The aim is set, the shot is primed,

Their days in the world are meagerly timed.

Shake will the enemies' house

where glasses of victory last night chimed.



That hour is near,

with red regret they'll be smeared.

They'll know then how we stand tall as a megalith

How we Indians are sages not to be trifled with.

Copyright © Shourya Shrivastava | Year Posted 2019

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To Those Who Couldn't Endure

I knew a simple friendly boy,
Wanna know him, want to try?
He was deemed a waste, a worthless brain.
Couldnt take that anymore 
and soon no one knew of him again.

There was an aesthetic girl 
but in the marks race, she couldnt unfurl
She had the answer,
Which was a pill
And from that day she is forever still.
Her mother had lost her pride.
"The numbers gulped her." She cried.

Another boy was a musician.
Yet his family gave him the doctor ignition.
With so much trauma, he couldnt cope,
And had his way with the peril rope.

Amongst the other victims was this juvenile,
Was adrift for not self but the gentry too guile,
With societal conjectures she couldn't subsist,
For her name wasnt there on the worthiness "merit list".

Now this social dismay was a loser chagrin
Elephantine bulk, such a bloated skin!
Was pushed around, bullied, tormented, traced,
Slenderness was his only crave.
Wanted to be spindly but wasn't so brave,
And ultimately gestured to an open grave.

One last case about this girl,
Was deeply depressed, had no saviour.
For she hadn't studied, feared an exam failure!
Chose the apparent easy way out,
Turned lifeless but her soul did shout.
She slashed across her precious veins.
The scarlet tears had her stained.

But is it only our snag,
Is humanity not the one to drag?
If yes it is, Why was eight-year old Asifa not
Audible nor discernable nor discoverable
Nor the barbarous ruthless ravages blamable?

So don't condemn us if the future goes wrong,
For its your gift that we'll endure lifelong.
Now one concluding question to my fellows all bright,
Do I end my life if I lose marks slight ?
Is it valued more than my mother's plight?
So what if I am obese?
Am I not entitled unpestered mental peace?
What am I gonna be, will the mob decide?
Or will you let me be my own guide?

Oh I beg you, please don't force me day to night, in every state,
Oh I beg you, please don't force me to chance on my fate!

Copyright © Shourya Shrivastava | Year Posted 2019

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For A Deep Down Debted Chat

Out there alone in the deep wide sea,
Catching some fish I sat,
Came around me this busy bee,
For a deep down debted chat.

Among ~dasvidanyas~ and ~privets~ 
I gloomed as the chirps do when the sun sets.
Those but the buzzes and rings
And the busy bee flings and sings.
Came around me this busy bee
For a deep down debted chat.

Struggling among the unexampled,
I felt crude amongst the kings.
And I met this bee, the busy bee
And oh so chirpily she sings.
And thus, came around me this busy bee
For a deep down debted chat.

Then at times trod and bleak
Nil of the energy I could keep
That busy bee, I called for her,
How wisely did she come and speak.
Came around me this busy bee
For a deep down debted chat.

She had her share of woe,
Guess her honey wasn't as sweet,
But to those, she did never away flee,
Not only busy, she also was the strongest bee.
Quite battled it out, with anxiety and quandary,
And so was she the strongest in the apiary.
Came around me the strongest bee
For a deep down debted chat.

I wonder if she wondered,
If there was a fault in her stars,
Or perhaps, she knew like me 
That 'twas her, the brightest star.
I wonder if she wondered,
To sting the people around
For quite worthy of it were those she had yet found.
And as I sat wondering,
Came around me this strong, busy bee
For a deep down debted chat.

Out there alone in the deep wide sea,
Catching some fish I sat,
Came around me this busy bee,
For a deep down debted chat.

Copyright © Shourya Shrivastava | Year Posted 2019

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Twilight


Foretime, I saw an impenetrable obscurity,
'Twas the glow sliding down,
And the dusk riding on to apparent infinity.
A vision, it was, too mesmeric to forget,
For it was where the sun and the sod met.

The sky wasn't blue, nor did it grow black,
But the horizon with the crimson hue was what took me aback.
There weren't any canopies or billows of a kind,
Natheless, it was a sight you'll not ever find.

The luna was conspicuous,
Fading the sun aside,
Only to rise another day with grandeur and pride.
But as mortals upkeeping the orb,
Bar treasuring this select artistry,
We can do naught but slumber into mystery.

Copyright © Shourya Shrivastava | Year Posted 2019



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Nothing Is Black

Black in the stellar and black in everything,

Back to the stars and still nothing.

Back to black and black to back,

Black is no color, it isn’t living.

 

It’s a void you can never fill,

It’s the light forever still.

It’s a poem with words unseen

And a poet too very keen.

 

It’s the art oblivious,

It’s a conspiracy serious.

Its hidden, though everywhere,

Its your dream and your nightmare.

 

Black is cold, black is old,

Black, it’s there in every fold.

It’s malice, it’s bright darkness,

Black is the philosophy of emptiness.

 

Black is life and black is death,

Black is the silence in every breath.

Black gives power and black steals glory,

Black is the plot of your story.

 

Words are black, hearts are black,

Endings black and starts are black.

Fear black, it’s sheer black,

Black repeats black to black.

 

Black is the subject, black is the king.

Black is no colour, it isn’t living.

 

BLACK.

Copyright © Shourya Shrivastava | Year Posted 2019

Details | Shourya Shrivastava Poem

The Night Is Dark

Nights are beautiful,
They are dark,
Just like life, a stinging mark.
A bleeding spark, a completed arc, to disembark.

They're painful, but the pain bundled,
with a tingling pleasure, a humour,
That the day hides with its light.
Only to be reversed by a carbon night.

The night is a mystery,
Asks which is needed to be,
A question forever unanswered,
One among the countless each moon.

It is lonely, silent,
Yet an unbearable pitch,
Comes from inside, who knows?
Perceive the shrieks of infernos.

It is cold, chilling,
Blanketed shivers down the spine
It's not the weather,
But flashes of the time together.

The night, the night it is,
A dark beauty, a paining glee,
A silent scream, an iced mystery.

One night, the night shall never cease,
That night'll be the night 
Of my peaceful decease.

Copyright © Shourya Shrivastava | Year Posted 2019