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Ankit Kumar Poem
DEFINING THE DEAFENING
Unhappiness isn't 're going through,
It’s thou we pretend to be.
Series of bio-and socio-cultural stage
That, Alter hormonal and physical change.
Everyone arrives via same matriarchal womb-
Why is it's same, When they want to change?
Isn’t it strange?
Erect by nurture, nature and norm,
Which grows aloud with past form.
Not outside, but within-
Oh! Peace, reach me please.
Don’t vapor like a musky cloud,
Drain Invincible poison out.
March, Oh austere mindset,
To bloom in borrowed hues.
Perhaps, deafening doesn't lie outside-
We breed it inside (individual).
Copyright © ANKIT KUMAR | Year Posted 2025
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Ankit Kumar Poem
What to say, what to write—
What to read, what to find?
Drift upon an old, traditional tide,
Common youngster, with a murky mind.
Is this the way I’m meant to write?
Neither the prose nor the perfect verse—
A quiet curse moving in reverse.
Let me pin this before it disperse,
Waiting for its arc to impact the universe.
Let me write– without judging myself wrong or right!
Demystify my thoughts on white, under dim-sun light.
Further, chaos finds its height—
Exactly the way I wrote all my thoughts, right?
Good or bad, valued or trashed,
For now, let us delay— no inner clash, neither lad nor lass,
Let the judgment wait— only a moment allowed to create.
Copyright © ANKIT KUMAR | Year Posted 2025
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Ankit Kumar Poem
I have not the slightest fear of death
One day it will come and say, Come with me.
I will stand there with my arms outstretched
The body lying in an unstable state,
Will grow numb with the fear of death.
Yet I do not fear death—
Nor have I been granted the boon of immortality,
Nor do I carry any hope
Of returning again to the same body.
What frightens me is worldliness.
With great difficulty I have encountered a single truth—
The final truth: death.
Do I know you?
Did I ever know you?
Yes, the truth is—
No, I do not know you,
Nor your existence.
Yet I always knew this much—
You alone are the ultimate truth.
I had heard much about you.
Today, having seen you, I understood:
Are you also a beautiful feeling
That humanity has for centuries called love?
Or are you the cardinal love of the present age?
Or are you a love
That transforms from the tangible to the intangible?
O Death!
Will you truly take me away?
Or after a moment of fragile stillness
Will you abandon me again
In the same shell of a body?
I do not wish to return to that fallen body.
If you have come to take me, then take me away.
I wish to live the consciousness of novelty.
I wish to go beyond postmodernity.
I wish to live again—
Childhood, mother, father, school,
And the friends of my school days.
O Death! Will you take me again
To give me that life once more?
For I have understood—truth resides there.
The present human is a hypocrite,
Who tears others apart daily for selfish ends.
O Death! Come, take me now.
I no longer wish to witness this reality.
Beyond excessive, excessive, excessive realism,
Introduce me to naire novelties of life.
O Death!
Will you be able to do this—
Just this—for me?
Copyright © ANKIT KUMAR | Year Posted 2026
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Ankit Kumar Poem
I remained like that date
on which no special work could happen.
I remained the middle date of that month,
whose number only kept matching every month.
I remained alone—
like a snare,
like a fading flower,
like a living corpse,
slowly deceiving itself,
day by day.
I don’t know
in what useless race I am.
I never win;
I only keep losing
little pieces of myself.
Yet the days kept passing,
like pages
no one cared to read.
Perhaps one day
this forgotten date on the calendar
will learn
how to bloom.
Until then,
I keep breathing, marking, treading
through each day and night,
as the clock continues—
time moving quietly
toward an unmarked date.
Copyright © ANKIT KUMAR | Year Posted 2026
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Ankit Kumar Poem
India’s caste still decides our dignity—
Not just apathy, but our lived condition,
We react the moment we perceive another’s identity.
The rage of symbols distracts us;
Language flares—
Wounding the non-native.
Our sphere dreams of “Viksit Bharat”,
But it doesn’t rhyme with reality—
We still breathe in the same old Bharat,
With the same claims, yet to combat (discrimination).
As we undergo vicissitudes, knowledge of boundless skies—
Which uplifts us every single time
Like bilingual voices flowing into a multilingual style,
Soaking every vein of mine.
So—educate! Agitate! Liberate!
For in the human rage of this world,
We are sunken in discrimination, differentiation, and segregation;
At every stage.
Come—let us do good, be good,
And stand as one among others.
Copyright © ANKIT KUMAR | Year Posted 2025
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Ankit Kumar Poem
PEOPLE TELL ME I’M NOT ALIGNED WITH MY ACTUAL AGE.
BUT NEVER BOTHERED MY PARENTS -
THOUGH FELT THE UNSPOKEN WEIGHT OF COMPLAINT.
DEEP DOWN, NEVER LIVED LIKE A YOUNGSTER;
CIRCUMSTANCES ADORNED ME IN ADULTHOOD,
A NUMBER HEAVIER THAN MY BONES.
I USED TO CARRY THE ROOM’S SILENCE LIKE A DEBT I HAD TO PAY.
I WAS THE ARCHITECT OF SAFETY,
THE CHILD WHO FORGOT TO SWAY.
I AM OUTGROWING THE “STRONG ONE”
TO MAKE ROOM FOR THE “HAPPY ONE”
I WAS SUPPOSED TO FIND,
BUT THE ARMOUR HAS GOTTEN TOO SMALL.
WHETHER REALIZATION, GRIEF, OR SORROW,
THEY BEGAN TO SAUNTER WITH ME.
GRIEF AND UNDERSTANDING VOYAGED SIDE BY SIDE.
WHAT I COULDN’T LIVE WITHOUT BEFORE
NOW IT BEGINNETH TO LIVE—
FULLY, FREELY.
YOU MAY ASK, WHY?
I NOTICED A NATURAL SHIFT:
BIGGER, STEADIER, MORE MATURE.
NO NEED TO TINGE MY SURROUNDINGS WITH PLAYFUL THINGS.
I NO LONGER PLAY TO WIN OR TO PROVE—
I PLAY TO ENJOY,
TO ERR,
AND TO GUFFAW AT MY OWN ERRORS.
THIS IS NOT AN ARGUMENT WITH TIME,
NOR A COMPLAINT AGAINST THE PAST.
IT IS A WONDER WITHIN,
UNASHAMED.
SLOWLY, I AM ARRIVING AT MY ACTUAL AGE.
THIS DOESN’T MEAN I’M BECOMING A CHILD;
I HONOR MY INNER CHILD—
WITH RAPPORT,
WITHOUT GUILT.
WE ARE NOT BROKEN;
WE NEED TO LISTEN WITH A FIERCE FONDNESS.
GROWING UP TEACHES ENDURANCE.
GROWING FREELY TEACHES GRACE.
WE ARE LEARNING TOGETHER.
JOY SPEAKS LOUDEST
WHEN IT IS UNAFRAID.
SOME LIVES BEGIN EARLY.
SOME BEGIN HONESTLY—
WHEN THEY STOP PERFORMING SURVIVAL.
Copyright © ANKIT KUMAR | Year Posted 2026
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Ankit Kumar Poem
In front of my house
There stand a tree—
A tree of love
Upon it grows of sensitivity,
And in its roots
Lie the feeling of pain and anguish
It often remain laden
With the fruits of untimely memories.
I have watched that tree;
I have often seen
The sweetest fruit of affection
Falling from it.
Along with them,
It has also left behind
Some branches
Where neither flower remain
Nor leaves,
And fruits-
As if without flower and leaves
Lie barren and silent.
Perhaps love, like comfort,
Has never reached those branches.
That is why,
Even in their restlessness,
They have learned
To remain silent.
The glittering brightness
Of branches laden
Of the flower, fruit and leaves
Seems to mock
The sobbing darkness
Of those silent branches.
Who know
Weather those branches are isolated,
Or the tree itself
Is the cause of their separation.
With its pain and sensitivities,
There is no equal harmony.
Sometimes within it
Darkness and silence spread;
Somewhere there is light.
Are truth or un-truth
Like two sides of the same coin?
Or is this merely a reaction
Of the tree-
Or perhaps
A warning?
With a desire
To redirect
The flow of humanity,
To bring vitality
Back into human life—
This is the difference
The branches of the tree reveal.
Its physical structure
Has told
The essence of human life.
It’s not a tree—
It's a human being.
A human- caught between darkness and light,
Searching endlessly
For Ego, Identity, Existence.
Copyright © ANKIT KUMAR | Year Posted 2026
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