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Best Poems Written by Lokendra Singh

Below are the all-time best Lokendra Singh poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Lokendra Singh Poem

Love Made Me a Poet

I never knew when poetry became my passion
I never knew when my passion became my profession
I was a person who could not write a letter
But love made me the poet without a question
And nostalgia is making my writing skills better and better
Certainly love broke my heart
As it is doing since antiquity
But my poems reaching to every part
And touching every heart
Writing poem gives me a kind of tranquillity
My effort is let tears not come in anyone's eyes
My eyes know what a torrent comes everyday
When any heart gets broken
Let my poems be a sun rise
And dry all the weeping eyes
May they Bring hope and light every day
May not a single heart, break again

Details | Lokendra Singh Poem

Chicku- My Baby

While going away from you these thoughts came impromptu 
I love you my lovely chicku

Your purity and purity of holy fire are akin 
You are the most cute and innocent face I have ever seen 

I can listen to your jabbering gibberish more attentively than any discourse  
You are my happiness's unfathomed source 
From now on I will breathe in two  bodies  
One is mine and another is yours

In stories I have heard that some wizard had her life in a parrot,
but my life is in you
I love you my lovely chicku

I am a poet 
I can untangle the most sophisticated subjects without destroying its efficacy,
but I am unable to understand the analogy of this bonding and  intricacy per se
For which all words are insufficient   Going away from you means- Subterranean trickling tears, pangs in heart, an uneasiness ineffable.

Details | Lokendra Singh Poem

Sadhguru

Sadhguru is like an infinite space
Anyone who is receptive can feel his grace
He is the greatest amalgamation of 
Ancient and modern knowledge
He knows very well how to free the bird 
From the cage
He breaks our shackles of belief
He gives the people who are weary 
From the worldliness-a relief
He moves like an air
For all living beings, he cares
A quintessential among men
He dances in the rain
He is fully involved in every activity
Whether delivering discourses or playing cricket
To infinite knowledge he is the open gate
Others are Gurus
But he is Sadhguru

Details | Lokendra Singh Poem

What An Author Feels When He Gets Published

When an author gets published
His happiness may be compared 
With  a mother's happiness 
Who has just given a birth to a baby 
After nine months pains and troubles 
In carrying it in her womb

When an author gets published 
He is as happy as a beggar 
Who is told that he is a king

When an author gets published
He feels as a spiritual seeker feels after 
Getting an enlightenment

When an author gets published 
He feels as a mountaineer feels 
After climbing a mountain

When an author gets published
With that
Many more works begin
It gives him unending motivation
As there have never been a single writer

Who had written only one book
One published book inspires him
To write another
And that book inspires him 
To write one more

Thus the writer's journey starts 
With his first book
But never ends till he breaths last.

Details | Lokendra Singh Poem

Midnight Ink

In the quiet of the night,
a whisper moves.
A spark lights up—
soft, sudden…
like a muse breathing fire
into the dark.

The day has faded.
Only shadows now.
And the wind 
takes its flight.

Somewhere,
a soft orange glow—
a place where hidden feelings go.
Twilight sits there, still and slow.
Numb…
but aching to be known.

Above,
in star-filled skies,
an attic waits
with a long, quiet sigh.
And a poet—
hand trembling, eyes wide—
reaches out
with ink-stained dreams.

A pale moon rises—
soft, tall, glowing.
It doesn’t ask.
It only whispers:
“Let go.”

Midnight poets…
we write when the world is sleeping.
We are
as free as falling leaves
caught in autumn vines.
Our words?
Like spells—
biting, healing,
yours and mine.

We are web-weavers
of sleepless pages.
We speak with no voice,
just ink.
Blind hands tearing night from day,
spilling dreams
in messy, beautiful lines.

We don’t need food.
Just ink.
Just words.
Just this fire in our chest
that never quits.
We burn through pages,
break pens,
bloom in places
no one else sees.

We whisper to the unknown.
Eyes closed.
But everything…
everything is seen.

We build worlds
from nothing.
We escape
by creating cages
made of rhyme.

We have no friends—
just ghosts in our heads.
We are the ones
no one understands.

Midnight is our kingdom.
And poetry…
is how we rule it.

So if you hear this
and your heart feels it—

Maybe I’m not just talking about me.
Maybe…
I’m talking about you.

Details | Lokendra Singh Poem

You are My Poetry

When I am with you,
words melt like sugar in tea—
too sweet to hold, too warm to grasp.
The verses stop on my tongue,
because you are the poem my heart has sung

But when you’re away,
ink spills in your absence,
lines flow like longing,
stanzas stretch like empty arms,
and every metaphor
becomes a bridge back to you.

You are the silence between my rhymes,
the rhythm I try to catch but cannot keep.
With you, I need no words—
without you,
I sink in them.

Let this be the quietest way
to say I miss you—
without saying it.

Details | Lokendra Singh Poem

No Pain, No Poetry

Life's beauty is hidden in strife,
For contrast alone gives meaning to life.

No darkness, no dawn,
No battle, no crown.

No winter, no spring,
No cage, no soaring wing.

No rain, no bloom,
No silence, no tune.

No fear, no courage,
No risk, no voyage.

No fire, no gold,
No spirit, no soul.

No doubt, no belief,
No sorrow, no relief.

No loss, no gain,
No clouds, no rain.

No longing, no art,
No end, no start.

No depth, no height,
No struggle, no flight.

No war, no warrior,
No front, no rear.

No life, no death,
No whisper, no breath.

No mud, no lotus,
No roots, no focus.

No pain, no poetry,
No heart, no melody.

Poetry isn't just about rhyme and flow,
It's the rawest truth the heart can show.

No pain, no poetry—not just a notion,
But the soul’s deepest, truest emotion.

Poetry is born from life's deepest wounds,
Yet it blooms like a flower in suffering’s ruins.

Details | Lokendra Singh Poem

You are My Poetry

When I am with you,
words melt like sugar in tea—
too sweet to hold, too warm to grasp.
The verses stop on my tongue,
because you are the poem my heart has sung

But when you’re away,
ink spills in your absence,
lines flow like longing,
stanzas stretch like empty arms,
and every metaphor
becomes a bridge back to you.

You are the silence between my rhymes,
the rhythm I try to catch but cannot keep.
With you, I need no words—
without you,
I sink in them.

Let this be the quietest way
to say I love you—
without saying it.

Details | Lokendra Singh Poem

Where Happiness is Hidden

Is there happiness in the finite?

Of course not.
How could there be?

Like a cup too small for the ocean,
like a clock chasing its own hands,
like love letters
crumpling at the edges,
their ink fading into longing.

Happiness—
if we must name it—
lives in the spaces between words,
in the breath before speaking,
in the silence between arguments
where something endless seeps in.

It is not in holding tight,
but in letting go.
Not in keeping,
but in losing.
Not in the answer,
but in the ache of the question.

And if you still seek it,
do not look outside—
go inward.

Happiness is not in your title,
not in your house,
not in your body or mind.
It does not wait in grand achievements,
but in small, quiet moments—
in a thank you whispered to the breeze,
in sunlight warming your skin,
in water slipping through your fingers.

It is there—
in the unmeasured,
the unheld,
the undone.
In knowing who you are
beneath all the names
you have been given.

Details | Lokendra Singh Poem

Rise and Shine Again

When the road is steep and the night feels long,
When every step seems weak, seems wrong,
When the weight of the world pulls you down low,
And the winds of doubt whisper, "now, give up, now Let go..."

Remember this-the strongest trees
Stand tall against the fiercest breeze.
Their roots run deep in earth and stone,
Unshaken, though the storm has grown.

You are the same—each fall, each tear,
Each scar you hold, each hidden fear,
It is just a page of a book, not an entire tale,
not the end,
Write your destiny, write your tale, my friend.

For failure is no final place,
But soil where courage finds its space.
Each misstep teaches you to stand,
Each setback shapes a stronger hand.

So when the climb leaves you worn,
Remember why your dream was born.
That fire inside, that tiny spark,
Can light the way when all is dark.

Persevere, though shadows stretch and grow,
Though tired bones say, "Do not rush, take it slow."
The world needs hearts that burn so bright,
Who rise again, still full of light.

So take the pain, the sweat, the fight,
And turn them into strength and might.
The sun will rise, just hold on tight.
Your time will come. You'll win this fight.