Details |
Anushka Dongre Poem
Reeling onto the faceless canvases of encasing past. I wade in my senseless senesces of thoughts asking for death.
"Right here, if you deduce me to be."
"You are, but, having you accompanied, I don't need you anymore."
I said, looking right into reaper's eyes, stumbled with scarred neck and intricate breath with every uneasy tear of mine, saying it a million times,
"let me live."
Copyright © Anushka Dongre | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Anushka Dongre Poem
Staring onto the blanks of skin depths,
I might as well fake for forsake.
Bright eyed and brushy tailed,
Hidden in the mask of despair.
Abandoned quiets of youthfulness,
juggling with lives apse.
"Hush, speak no more.
You ain't my reign,
nor am I interested in lame."
A beginner's mind, which I am not aware of.
Thinking of rainbow vivid and lush greens,
carving forced passions of strangers beliefs.
Bright sleeked while the sharp of shadows go un-noticed.
"I do not fear the dark"
So I say.
While my eyes were coved to mantic sounds of silences.
'Youth' it was someone said.
Bipolar I corrected.
Copyright © Anushka Dongre | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Anushka Dongre Poem
"One who meditates of death, has disguised his life as one.
One who meditated of death, in order to disguise, knows life."
- "Should I meditate of life then?"
You probably will be 'living death'
(P.s. explanation -
A layman who thinks of nothing but death, and has the essence of it to his very depths, has, ofc, known his familiar friend, 'life'
So he does, cause he has lived and lives of life and want none. Even so, he lives to the fullest. While trying to escape to a place where no human soul has ever reached, he simply traces the paths of knows. Doing so, unconsciously makes a futile attempt of disguising his living into that of death while he actually, indeed, turns to a mortal.)
Copyright © Anushka Dongre | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Anushka Dongre Poem
The Butterfly Dream.
A bit obscure, I danced
within the rhythms of the wind cords.
Jovial, buoyant.
While I sing the gifted nature,
I saw me;
skilled with urbane speech
with ability to cultivate things.
Most condescending, my capability to think.
I was still,
still in turbulence of breeze,
while my thoughts run wild as winds.
I saw a butterfly, dancing.
Oh! It was me
– flitting and fluttering.
Happy within myself,
doing what I please.
Was I dancing, or was I still?
–“the transformation of things.”
Thin ice between reality and appearance,
truths and illusions.
Until I realize it’s a mirror,
one with its own-self,
once awake, ‘I’ turning into another.
Copyright © Anushka Dongre | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Anushka Dongre Poem
You need not know that my silver is gold or how little I loved before I had your hold.
O’er I stood again, shoveling flowers off graves to offer the dead.
“Now that I yearn for your lacerating nails, where are they?”
Ceasing into everlasting life, in disguise of death.
I, while reading the book of death, and thinking abt the muse who is dead. And not death as ‘end’ but as life which is frozen, as a life which is everlasting and living in me. Mirrors meaning underworld in wayward hues leaving reminiscence of empty picture frames like rainbow rust in delicate dust growing wildflower hearts.
Why must ridges of your body run clean knives and remind me of what it feels like to stand alone? And why must you resurrect right where my soul is?
Copyright © Anushka Dongre | Year Posted 2021
|