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Omika Mishra Poem
The Last Hug
The day you left, my soul took your side,
My heart felt a real ache, and cried a flood,
All I wanted and wished to grasp was you,
As you moved forward, I felt blind,
And lost you in the mist of crowd.
There were people to support me,
But all felt hollow,
There were thought around me,
But all seemed narrowed,
There were lips around me curved up ,
But all felt curved down.
I still have it painted in my head when I last saw you,
Like the monument which stays forever,
That night I was drenched in rain,
Dripping water from head to toe,
My coat felt heavy with the water,
My outer picture had imitated the inner.
I remember the last hug,
How our eyes had the cracks of red ,
like the cracks of a broken mirror,
How your body squeezed hard against mine,
How my hands wrapped around you were indivisible,
How I wanted the time to standstill,
And the few counted breath I took in your arm, before letting you go.
Copyright © Omika Mishra | Year Posted 2020
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Omika Mishra Poem
This love,was not just a wish, it was the sole truth of my life, but your betrayal proved it a lie.
I had drowned in your love, had lost all my senses, wanted to live in this
fuddle for ever...but o betrayal you broke my heart like it was a bottle of wine...
I loved you limitlessly...but your betrayal casted me down in such a way that I became lifeless though I was alive...
It was scream from my heart,which was silent at your ears..it was the thirst for your Love, which you did not quench...
Like leaves need wind to sway in happiness, like memories need time to come into existence, similar was your love for me..
Now there are only few questions on my lips, in whose reply there is only your betrayal...was I so bad, that you had only disgrace for my love in reply..
Copyright © Omika Mishra | Year Posted 2017
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Omika Mishra Poem
I can't seem to find myself, where am I, why is it so dark here, too many doors when i touch the wall.
Collecting my scattered guts, I push a door open, hoping to find a hope I step in, and fall deep and deep. When I turn to look I discern all the doors leading me here.
Is it a dream, I really hope it is.
oh no!! why is my skirt raised, this place is full of eyes staring hungrily at me.
I don't seem to understand it, why does their stare make me feel unclad.
I feel their stare ripping off my clothes slowly thread by thread, i feel like I auricular them mumbling fresh meat.
oh no!! why do these hand's touch make my body feel like I am burning in hell.
Is it a dream, I really hope it is.
where is my daddy who routed me here and told me that I was being taken to fair.
when on mention of fair, I got ready in my new pink frock, where is my daddy?? can someone help me find him.
I feel strayed like in dense forest, I feel suffocated like in buried coffin,
I feel dead like on a crematary bed.
I pinch myself assuming to wake up from the dream but even that seems to defy me.
Is it a dream, I really hope it is.
right now all I know is I am 11, my body is in great pain and I am being told that I would get used to it.
I miss my abode, when at home I dreamt of being a doctor or a pilot ,
but now my dreams seem to be locked away and key thrown.
Is it a dream, I really hope it is.
but no!! i will not let them bury my guts cause I will dare to dream, and i will keep daring untill i reach that home where I dreamt those dreams.
Is it a dream, I really hope it is.
Copyright © Omika Mishra | Year Posted 2017
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Omika Mishra Poem
Promises:
Made in abundant,
like the infinite universe.
Far from completion,
like the distance between galaxies.
Sucking on life,
like a black hole.
You made promises,
like graffiti in comics,
just remained in those pages,
and never to life.
like lipstick on my lips,
when rubbed it vanished,
as vapor on a hot pan.
Your words were,
like flavors on my tongue,
changing with every food.
like sand from the shore,
receding with every wash.
Like writings on a whiteboard,
one slap and Erased.
Your promises were,
Like glass bangles on my hand,
little stress and shatter into pieces.
Like the icicle on my coat’s fur,
one blow and scattered into oblivious.
Your promises were wrapped,
Like sweet dreams, dipped in molasses,
Beautifully portrayed, like Mona Lisa.
But inside,infested with crawling worms,
Draining me out of life,
making my intestine parched,
like an used rope,
Stinging me,
like a million cactus.
Having push of innumerable bulls,
To drown me deep,
Making my breath count,
And tuning my pulse to beat like a drum.
Copyright © Omika Mishra | Year Posted 2020
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Omika Mishra Poem
This Poem about an instance of pain and plight of Sex workers.
Red Frozen Flower:
Multiple cars flashing the red lights,
Coating red lipsticks on street.
Decorated like a model,
Hair perfect as a wig,
Eyelids having shine of summer sand,
Eyelashes curled like a wave,
with a red rose smile.
While neck loaded in golden figures,
she was garbed in red glittered dress,
in heels giving her ache of a ninety year old.
Several cars slow down,
Pricing her worth,
Touching their crouch,
Ogling with dripping saliva,
Having thought of,
mounting her like,
A lion on it’s prey,
tearing her spirit bit by bit.
Every time a car stopped,
Her heart’s beat hopped,
As the ordeal of,
prior days still haunted,
Gathering her scattered guts,
She hopped on in a red Skoda,
Naive to her future.
When arrived at crematory,
The human mask melted and sinisters appeared,
Advancing to rip her clothes like a bandage,
while they took turn like on a fiery.
She felt the pain of frying in hell,
stabbing of multiple knives,
the crush of several mountains,
and slipping into coma.
The terror went on,
filling the night's silence,
with the ring of her,
pig’s alike squeal.
As she bled lying on crematory,
In the shivers of the naked night,
Like a Red Frozen Flower.
Copyright © Omika Mishra | Year Posted 2020
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Omika Mishra Poem
This poem addresses the situation of labour migrants during this epidemic.
And one such scene,where the child tries to wake up his dead mother.
The Bitter Phiz
My soul felt fainted,
When the video was painted.
My anger had the temperature of a volcano,
While my intestine had the swirl of cyclone.
The sky roared loud,
The Cloud cried rivers,
as tress swayed in dismay.
The moon turned Saffron,
while night had the color of collyrium.
As the child tried to wake his mother,
Ran just to turn back,
And see if she participated behind him.
Tried pulling her,
With hope of getting pulled back.
Hide in her scarf,
With the anticipation of getting cuddled.
Shook her hard,
With the expectancy of being chided.
But she would not answer,
The 2 year old barely understood why.
Why Humanity seemed to be failing them.
Why they were treated as insects,
Crawled out of big cities,
and being smashed like one.
Why they were stuffed in cage of trucks,
like a turkey on a thanksgiving.
Why social distancing seemed hard to afford,
like a diamond for luxury.
The 2 year old barely understood why,
Trying to wake lifeless mother of his,
while keeping his head on her chest to feel the rhythm of death.
Copyright © Omika Mishra | Year Posted 2020
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