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Best Poems Written by Srveer Bhati

Below are the all-time best Srveer Bhati poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Know

I dread thee soul.
The bold it rows,
Perchance, A mistake.

I see yee soul.
The form it takes,
It appears to be...of a lake.

A lake to all, that i endow,
To all of which, that i do wish.
Maybe you are...indeed,
For me the lake.
For i know yee soul,
The woo's it gives,
Its epistemology,
Knitting me,
Making me, myself...

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Absolute Hunch

Am the string.
Oscillating discretely,
The sways of pattern,
Calling for elation,
To come happen...

Am now a probability.
Never discrete, yet,
A contradictory distinction,
True absolutism,
And not a fiction...

Am a void...conclusively. 
For within me persists everything,
And for i resemble nothing,
For i am all material,
Yet am not a thing...

None.
Am just...I.

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Oh! To The Tree

Oh to the tree,
The so abstraction of elation. 
There is one to which i go,
To which i go and compose,
Draft of intricacies beyond comprehension.

Oh to the tree,
Of complex mentions.
I sit under the shade that so fades,
But even as it fades, I do still wait,
Waiting....for one who can grasp what i compose,
The complex mentions... in the question.

Oh to the tree!
The day has come... there is this girl,
She gets it!
Dismay forgone, now all is shade
I still do wait but the shade doesn't fade...
Abstraction of elation, indeed.

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Thou Art

In yards and yards, as symphony sprouts,
Taking an altitude above the ground.
The light-brown mud has a cry,
As the regular wind says it's "Hi".

Time churns,
The indelible death arrives.
A low for altitude, and a low for the wind,
A toll of scrutiny, and thyself,
Thou art growth, and thou art death.
Thou art none, not the self.

There comes another seed,
That too will sprout, that too will die.
A friend to both in time, the symphony fixated,
As the dark shade of mud....
And as distortion to the wind...

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Solitude

As i dreamt of days passed by,
(Darn it!) Takes a sprout.
I looked to my right,
And i looked to my left,
For how i saw no passers-by,
"Darn it!" Gets the mouth.

Regrets flood in of "Why? Just why?", the floods make up a sea,
There is now a vicinity to self in which am loath,
And cry to the self for leave,
Its only when the eyes dry up,
And the fog has its retreat,
How infinite the self is in the void.....
"I see! I see! I see!"

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ACHE OF A THOUSAND SUNS

A thing that yearns in constant devour,
And finds itself to be a constant sour,
Totally dissolute… and an accumulation of none,
Is the thing that burns, at a constant run.

For the thing is… in all its effortless glory,
The ache of a thousand suns.