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Best Poems Written by Omika Mishra

Below are the all-time best Omika Mishra poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Omika Mishra Poem

Is It a Dream

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.

Details | Omika Mishra Poem

Promises

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.

Details | Omika Mishra Poem

Red Frozen Flower

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.

Details | Omika Mishra Poem

The Bitter Phiz

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.

Best Poems Written by Omika Mishra

The Last Hug

The Betrayal

Is It a Dream

Promises

Red Frozen Flower

The Bitter Phiz