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Heart losing all alone

Losing, running
Heart beats till the dawn,
Catching up with the rush,
Alas! I’m left all alone.

Isolated, crying–
Crying till the dawn.
Alas! I’m left all alone.

Millions of voices
I hear–
One following the curls,
Other, running out of fear.

But the heart fails
Every time–
To catch up with the rush,
Beats are tired,
Leaving me all alone.
Alas! They’re crying till the dawn.

Isolated, surrounded by rush–
I hear people crying till the dawn.
Alas! All are left alone.

Heart losing all alone
Losing all alone

About “Heart losing all alone”

Maya Angelou‘s poem “Alone”, basically inspired me. She wrote how technology is making us isolated. And I wrote how life has turned into a rush. And everyone is alone in this rush.




Mohabbat se pucho ki “tum kaun ho”,
Hum pahchan apni btayenge.
Masnad par tumhe bithayenge,
Khud zameen pe hum baith jayenge.
Tabiyat se tohfey bhijwayenge,
Tumhari diwali par mithaee bhi khayenge.
Har eid par gale se lagayenge,
Tumhe sewaiyaan bhi khilayenge.

Upar wale ka naam to hum bhi lete hain
Tum use ishwar kahte ho to hum khuda kah lete hain.
Mohabbat se dekho ki “wo kaun hai”,
Dono ek hi nazar aayenge.
Dua tum masjid me mango,
Hum mandir me prarthana karne aayenge.
Par ye nafrat mitaane,
Na to mere khuda, na tumhare ishwar utar kar aayenge.

Aao zara mil kar puche “yeh kaun hain”,
Kya ye apni pahchan bata payenge?
Beshaql hain ye, anjaan hum,
Benaam hain ye, Iqabal hum,
Behosh hain ye, Tagore hum.
Jo hum gale se mil jayenge,
Yeh dhool ban udd jayenge.

Disclaimer: The poem is written to spread hope. So read it with a positive mind. It’s just a poem, so calm yourself whenever a sense of discontent pops out while reading it.

Copyright reserved to mistella

Religious violence in India (source: wikipedia)

A Tale of Saree and Skirt

The Tale of Saree and Skirt
A tale of Saree and Skirt

Once the skirt came back home,
Crying, torn, bloody, fighting alone.
When asked about the matter,
She shouted the name with a “bhaiya” in the end.
But hell, her eyes wanted nothing but revenge.
She fell unconscious, murmuring for justice,
Wanting to fight against the culprit.
The skirt stopped playing on the streets,
School, studies, career, all disappeared from her dreams.

The saree often thinks of her playing,
Getting hurt while running.
But this time when she came
The blood was flowing from the inside.
She rushed to door, closing it with an attempt to hide.
Skirt spent a month in hospital,
Surgery after surgery and the ongoing battle.

She turned back normal,
But the scar didn’t.
Still the mirror reminds her
Of the dark day,
When her innocence blurred her way.
But the sari took over the task
To fight for the little skirt
Ignoring her own fate.

Once the skirt was sleeping
When the saree entered weeping.
She was also torn,
Scars on her body and a face, full of scorn.
The skirt connected all the points,
The Saree’s screams and all those similar nights.
When asked about the matter,
Saree couldn’t take any name.
Full of dread, her eyes filled with shame.
Saree and skirt slept together that night,
Holding hands, avoiding each other’s sight.
One was torn by the hands of a chocolate giver
And the other, by the hands of a bread winner.

So the skirt decided to fight,
And the saree went back the other night
To be torn, hurt, abused, raped
And left to awake, completely reshaped.

All Rights reserved by Mistella

Rapes in India (source- wikipedia)

Droplets of Dread

Changing colors of the sky,
Falling wings which once used to fly,
Asked her eyes to shut for a while
But they flowed and flowed like the Nile.

When the sky became dim
And the stars begun to glim,
She waited for the droplets of dread
To dry over her cheeks without getting spread.

But then she met a night
When those droplets of dread begun to fight
With her eyes, refusing to fall,
And her ears could hear the whispering wall.
It mocked at her misfortune,
Calling her by different names, by changing the tune.

But a day came when she gave up the battle,
Nothing could be heard but a rattle,
Which pierced her soul within
And didn’t let those droplets win.

Now she sits away from the sky and wings,
Never waits for what the new color brings.
But she still can’t shut her eyes,
And has turned herself into a never melting ice.

Droplets of dread
droplets of dread

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Ganges at six in the morning (A Haibun)

(Photo by NurPhoto/NurPhoto via Getty Images)

6’O clock
I and me, crossing the Ganges on a freight train, see the horizon enveloped in life. Indian women with their own elegance borrow water from the goddess. Men, after the holy dip, join their hands before the sun.

Heart of India
Lies in this stream, which spread and
Sanctify their souls.

I can see life and death at the same time. Bodies which no longer breathe, are being drown in it. Also, the bodies which breathe are drawing water to drink. But it’s difficult to find which body is alive and which one’s dead.

Plastics, garbage, dance
on surface, to enter bodies,
Whether breathe or not.

And now the river’s crossed. I look inside. The bodies beside mine have closed their eyes. Some are open, but are of no use. Their mouths are whispering to each other in their own fashion. Some talk of politics, some about the mythology. Oh! They also know the stories about the purity of Ganges. But…

None of these stories
Can sanctify the drops which
Purify these mouths.

Now I need to be ready, for my stoppage is arriving. I dare not call it my destination as it’s already decided. The sacred Ganges that I crossed is the ultimate end of this body. Like all of them, I also have to die before death. [“I’m a critic of left wing ideology.”
“You’re right. They don’t respect the indian culture.”
“By the way who will win the election this time. What do you think?”
And here comes my stoppage. Let’s meet new bodies, new eyes and new mouths.

About the Ganges at Six

The Ganges is considered as the most sacred river of India. The natives purify themselves by the holy dips. But the catastrophe that the river is facing is being ignored. That’s what I chose as the theme of my poem.

This prose enveloped haibun has been written in response to Colleen’s Poetry Challange. Thanks to her for giving such beautiful words every week. This time the words were Grace and style and my synonyms are Elegance and fashion. Hope you enjoyed it.

Image credit- Getty Images [Link]


Mistella ❤️

A Voice is heard (A Poem)

A voice of lion and that if a man are on a continuous war
The tumult

A voice is heard often
Like a lion roaring in a den.
He wants to come out,
Roar once again, slake his drought.

But another voice is heard again,
It rebukes the lion and closes the den.
This voice sounds like that of a man
Who wants to do all, but has no plan.

The day isn’t too far
When the tumult will turn into a war.
Face of lion with a body of man, I see,
None is ready to set the other free.

This war of the voices begins with the sunrise,
And ends at the moment I close my eyes.
This is the way where monsters tread,
Head’s alive, while the heart’s dead.

Written in response to November writing prompt.


Mistella ❤️

The Coffee House – Episode 3

Ved came back to his house. He was lost somewhere. “When you can’t find a solution, try solving other problems. You may find the solution to it on your own, at the end.”- Read a message from Lavanya on his phone. Ved wanted but failed to gather the courage to reply her back. But this message reminded him of their past. It was a time when Lavanya used to be a girl who knew nothing but to “live”. She never disclosed her other side to anyone. But Ved was the one, with whom she revealed her hidden side, but still not everything. One day, Ved called and asked her to meet- “Where?”
“The Coffee House.”

Next day, Lavanya came before the time and was waiting for him. After about half an hour, Ved came. She smiled and didn’t say anything.
“Sir, ma’am, your order?”
“Two cups of Mocha”- Replied Lavanya to the waiter.
Ved begun to speak. “Lavanya, are we good friends?”
“Then would you mind if I say something wrong to you?”
“Why, are you going to abuse me?”- Lavanya asked with a laughter.
“No, not at all.”
“Then tell me whatever you have to say.”
Ved gathered a lot of courage and proposed her. He seemed to be  scared and his eyes were closed. Suddenly a voice came- “Your order sir, two cups of mocha.”
Ved slowly opened his eyes and looked around.

Then he looked at Lavanya, she was smiling but didn’t say anything.
Suddenly, the phone rings and Ved comes out of his past.
“You met her even after my warning, now you see how I will punish you both.” -said Abhay on the call.
“No, please don’t hurt her anymore. You can punish me but forgive her.”- Ved requested. But Abhay disconnected the call.
Ved wanted to kill Abhay and make Lavanya free of his grip. He wanted to call her and ask whether she is fine. But he didn’t want add to her troubles.

Ved’s dilemma.

Hope you are enjoying the episodes. Episode 1 and Episode 2 of The Coffee House are already uploaded. For instance, if you missed any of the previous episodes, go and read it.

Also, if you’ve any suggestion regarding the posts, let me know through the contact page. Further, if you write poetry or prose, your work is invited.


Mistella ❤️

Image Pixabay [Link]

Yours and Mine (A Poem)

I saw a dream of a floating corpse,
Sleeping in peace, with no warps.
I wonder what it would be dreaming,
No commands, no regrets, but eyes still not gleaming.

Will it ever get tired of this night,
And wish for a morning beam to enter its sight?
Or is it better to lie in dark,
Where birds never chirp, dogs never bark?

What if Endymion suddenly opens his eyes,
Finds no beauty, no color and nobody wise.
Will he choose to sleep again in dark,
Or wander to see the change, what would be his remark?

If a body is sleeping with its eyes closed,
The dream can break without being disclosed.
While a dead’s dream is shrouded in mystery,
No demands, no expectations, still a long hidden history.

Let’s turn this body into a couple of corpses,
Riding smoothly over the water, no need to feed the horses.
Let’s twinkle like stars without owning its light,
Glaring far enough with proud, no quarrel, no fight.

No light, but a colorful night is waiting,
Let’s fall asleep, without contemplating.
Yours and mine dream shall be woven
Together in the sky and beneath the ocean.

Yours and mine dream

The poem “Yours and Mine” is a part of November writing prompt. Hope you like this poem.

To know more about the prompt visit the link.

Also, if you want to read my upcoming posts, Subscribe to the blog. For instance, if you’re interested in writing poetry or prose, your works are invited.

Further, if you wish to read my latest posts, go and read it now. Let me know your feedback in the comments.

Introducing a new perspective

I am updating this post with a little change in perspective. Previously when I wrote this poem, I had a different thought behind the theme. But this time, I would like to confess that the perspective is completely new.

I have changed some form and meter, but not much. As I believe that every time you read a poem, you can read it with a new perspective. So I didn’t bother myself to bring much changes in it.

This has been done in response to d’verse MTB. Our host Björn wanted us to bring a new perspective by coming out our comfort zones. Well I would like to thank him for such a creative challenge.



My Second Childhood (A Poem)

I shall never get myself back once you grow,
Giggling, tickling, and lovingly chiding,
All shall I lose with your innocence,
That you’re blessed with.

I can sense a soft touch of undivided love
When you suddenly make a clutch from behind.
I shall lose this laughter,
while turning and hugging you back,
With your playfulness,
That you rightfully own.

The fun of making a suitable sentence
Out of your broken words,
Is already diminishing day by day.
Perhaps I shall lose it entirely
with your childish humor,
That you’re always ready with.

The excitement of listening
To your amazingly creative queries,
Will be ruined one day.
I shall definitely lose this smile
With your curiosity,
That you were born with.

The soft touch of your neck on my arm
And that lovely smell when I kiss you,
All shall I lose with your childhood,
That you will leave behind,
And I shall perhaps never get myself back ever.

Your little fingers, pearly teeth, curious eyes,
Am I supposed to lose all this one day?
Then I shall perhaps lose my second childhood
With yours first.

My second childhood

About “My Second Childhood”

This poem is for a little brother, who’s quite younger than the speaker. I’m just telling my intent behind writing it. You are free to interpret it yourself:)


Mistella ❤️

Image Pixabay [Link]

A Piece of Art that touched my soul- The Lonely Poetry of Night by Gabriela

Hola my dear readers, I’m Mistella and I am back with a great piece of art “The Lonely Poetry of Night” from the Short prose blog.

What do you do when a piece of art touches your heart?

You want your friends and people to read it or watch it too. Right? This post is going to be the same.

Short prose blog❤️

This piece of art by one my fellow bloggers touched me and I want you to read it too. This poem titled “The Lonely Poetry of Night” by Gabriela is literally wonderful. Here’s an excerpt for you:

trees whisper, cries of cloudy skies
inaudible, unseen,
you, Astraea,
you push me on a long-forgotten trail...

I request you to check out the whole poem on her blog. Here’s the link to it:


I’m sure you will enjoy it.



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