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Best Poems Written by Akash Sagar

Below are the all-time best Akash Sagar poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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An Abortion of All Virgin Dreams

The most beautiful dream,
Woven for nine months;
In each and every SHE's mind.
All of a sudden encounters,
The worst nightmare;
A shameful dare.

He/She inside her, 
Gets stabbed innumerable times, maliciously;
With reasons like infidelity,
Sometimes, as an unwanted burden
And at times, for dreaming it too early.

Ooh !! The brutal, heinous Martian mind;
Spare that innocent foetus Child,
Who sleeps cozily in the cradle of womb;
A bondage imprisoned to commit an ignorant suicide;
Ooh..!! Do not kill a beautiful tomorrow.
After all, life is bliss;
Ooh !! And poor baby unfortunately,
Your share you have missed.

Details | Akash Sagar Poem

Rhyming From a Shoe's Shoe

I have walked miles on efficient spaces,
Have burnt myself in three Summers;
And also got frozen thrice under icy Winters,
Ooh…! I am an old man now;
Ageing to last for 36 months and still breathing.
But a reluctant ignorance these days,
Hesitantly makes my paranoia to wait,
For my accidental suicide someday,
Someday, when I would get torn off;
And worn out to be thrown;
To decay and die, someday...
Get buried and cradled in the neighboring dustbin.

Ooh..! I still remember,
My God happily paying a dowry of five Grands,
So arduously earned Gold coins of those days.
To buy and get me laid;
To break the virginity of my pure sole.
A pure sole back then,
Apparently, a poor Soul now; 
Plainly wishes for my serving legacy to continue,
Continuing in my God… 
And all other upcoming Gods’ kind donation.

Can never forget those 6 soaked months,
Going against the Dr. Cobbler’s healthy advice;
When the God and me got completely drenched,
And sinfully stamped to crush,
Few innocent paper boats unknowingly. 
It must be because of that heinous curse,
Given on that rainy day;
By that crying kid in Monsoon’s porch;
For those two and half finely sewn threads of mine,
Had left my body yesterday.

And I hesitantly wait for my accidental suicide very soon,
Someday my doomsday under no Moon;
When I would get completely torn;
And badly worn out to be utterly thrown out;
To decay and die,
Get buried and cradled in the neighboring dustbin.

Details | Akash Sagar Poem

In Search of Some Non-Sense

The changed wind today,
Blows a spontaneous rhythm;
Endlessly on broken chords.
As every He/She pendulums blindingly,
To blend and bend themselves craving for,
Inquest of a roller-coaster joyride inside;
And ultimately is found to return,
Tuning itself in-wards;
On blind voyages from somewhere to nowhere,
From nowhere to somewhere.

For everyone is found to be guilty here,
Burning in an eternal guilt;
To get born again and reborn again.
Rejoicing on others guilt,
Relying to live on our ancestral Grand Father’s spit;
Whilst, one like me simply gets gone;
Going on blind voyages towards countless destinations,
Tripping to n fro within.
To dive, plunge and sink into,
A private world of our own;
Where we sailingly dream to fulfill,
All the sprouting desires of this mind;
After weighing them on,
Our personal Jesus’s sunbeam.
Frequently chased by so many trillion thoughts,
Innumerable beliefs, relentless creeds and scrupulous dogmas;
Which haunts to finally halt on,
Any ageless question mark to recur all life.

Alas..!!! A self-realization returns,
With empty hands.
To be left alive only with,
A realistic blank vacant and pseudo existence.
Ooh! For we all are fellow-travelers here,
Traveling in the same boat;
Strangely acting to live,
A life in search for some non-sense;
In-quest of a mindless state,
A timeless space

As the living law of life righteously suggests,
That truthfully everything changes to be non-existential.
For we all have emptily arrived here,
With nothing to gain;
And nothing to lose,
Just to have a splendid vacancy in vain; during our return.

Thoughts poured:
Dated on — 9th Feb’ 2011.

Details | Akash Sagar Poem

An Old Vintage Shotgun of Mine

A loaded pistol,
With youthful courage till yesteryear;
Now lies naked and dormant,
And Is found to be lifeless and dead.
Somewhere, buried in my Junkyard,
Playfully tested till now in all arms to shame;
As it shyly, blushes and whispers to admit,
Murmuring its helplessness into my ears.

Ooh! My Childhood friend,
It feels like an impotent;
To be so bullet-less today.
My Golden days have all ended,
Life has become so ignorant now;
As I've become so bullet-less today.

As the pendulum constantly oscillates,
Time has traded fast on twenty wheels;
Looking for some good fortune in distant lands.
And a store-room in my backyard,
Has always remained the same;
And is still kept unchanged.
But never was any eye caught,
Not even mine;
To drool upon the nozzle of that Gun;
Like the way I used to do,
Used to lovingly do before.

Strolling down my kindergarten alley,
When a Gun was gifted on a bright Christmas morning;
It used to amaze me in my childhood days,
As I so excitedly unwrapped and got it out;
From the mysterious and magical White socks,
Which was hung on my bed; Hung all night,
Waiting for a snowy white beard old man;
A laughing sage in an exception;
Who lived on the mystical hill-side view,
Of my Steel city.

Today, after so many years,
A long craved sight fell upon it;
And it instantly drove me back,
To flash my childhood nostalgic days.
When infant Army camps used to settle,
To battle in the air for all day long;
Under the densely old,
Never claimed tree by anybody - 'Our Mango Tree'.
Ooh! How then this pistol fakingly killed,
So many nappie buddies of mine.
Who played and just acted,
To be dead as my enemies.

Ooh..! How strangely it feels like,
A game of now.
When today the lil' me gazing at any topic,
Sitting in my backyard;
Stumbled and pondered to find, 
An old vintage Shot-gun of mine.
So curiously digging the wearily torn school bag,
Hanging since ages on the dampened wall.

Ooh..! So clueless, I fumbled upon,
An old vintage Shotgun of mine.
Dumped and buried under thousand other,
Essential antique toys of mine;
Which notoriously has got rotten in rust.
In closed walls of adolescence,
Where white parchments seeps overall;
From moist doors of yesterday,
Ooh..! How strangely it still feels like today.

Details | Akash Sagar Poem

Victoria's Secret

He and she wear similar names
Altered spellings
Brown sugar and black salt
Are meant to serve different purpose.

An offensive outfit
Hard earned money worth a semen
Mucus and milk must be siblings
Soul & tarot card reading is an unrecognised hobby.

Nine balls are snooked on an English table
The cue lies on her court.

Details | Akash Sagar Poem

Monte Carlo

Hush!
Discreetly they be. Clandestine
Journeying a void voyage,
Made for each other
Madly in love.

Might be
A pin drops silently
Mind is a culprit.

Yesterday slumbers on a bed of thorns.

Hush!
Sweaters in making
Knits a sock, as well.

Footwear and footprints in love