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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 ❤️

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.



Amidst the Fight (A Poem)

Amidst the fight,
Fight for the vote bank,
Fight for a throne-like-chair,
A part of society,
A part of this planet,
Is left aside,
Crying and beging,
Fighting and shouting.

Amidst the riots,
Riots of hindu and muslim,
Riots on cow slaughtering,
A part of society,
A part of this planet,
Is sliced-off,
Quivering and stammering,
Weakening and dying.

A mother is beaten,
A father suicides,
A son drops out of his school,
A daughter is raped.
But is this part of society,
Not made to be shaped?

Amidst the achievements,
Achievements in space,
Achievements in wars,
A part of society,
A part of this planet,
Is kept apart,
Far off the upheavals,
Far off the race,
For this part of society,
Seems to have no face.

Unaware of the tricks and intrigues,
This innocent part of society,
Finds temporary solutions as a panacea,
And stumbles across the whole life,
For our politics never let it know its real “problem”,
For which it needs to strife.

This part of society,
Hence, should learn a lesson.
It needs to remember
What it has been through.
And need not share
Its so-called master’s view.

Image credit- Pixabay

Hope you like this poem. We’ll be back with a new post tomorrow. We will try to come up with new topics very soon!

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The Ultimate Pleasure of Life (A Poem)

Hello dear readers! Our existence is nothing but a paradox of “life“. Isn’t it? Sometimes, we really find pleasure in what we achieve, but have we ever noticed what this pleasure resembles?

The sparkle of those crackers

Am I right?

Let’s find the ultimate pleasure of life. Here I have composed a small poetry on what we are and what we are meant to be.

Hope you like it:)

Let’s choose the “road not taken”
Image credit- pixabay

The Poem “The Ultimate Pleasure of Life”

Miles have been walked,
miles are still to be stalked.
Let’s come out of these dilemmas
and escape out of these undesired commas.

Millions have been thrilled,
millions are still to be killed.
Let’s rush to the peak
before we lose the chance to speak.

Stop walking hand in hand,
stop capturing your footprints on sand.
Let’s just lose the patience
before our identity requires an evidence.

Even though we are dying,
even though we are crying.
Our eyes and ears are closed
as we’ve to keep the truth unexposed.

Never believe the warmth of the sun,
never laugh at the moments of fun.
Just trust your cursed existence
which should be the only reason for subsistence.

Illusion is your status,
illusion is this plumpness due to flatus.
Escape out of this paradox of life
which leads to a never-ending path of strife.

Pleasure is when you gift your smile,
pleasure is when beggars keep your file.
Let’s live those moments which were partaken,
let’s just choose the “Road Not Taken”.

Hope it pleased you somehow:)

All I meant to say is:

Choose wisely as your happiness is key to the door of your aim.”

Will be back very soon with a new one!

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With lots of Love,


Friendship (A Poem)- #Fiends-#Poem-#Mistella

Image credit-Pixabay

The way these roots hold the soil,
You are my soul in this life of toil.
Look at those stars
whose beauty never fades of scars.
Our affection too,
is a message to send
to the rivals whose humanity has come to an end.

The warmth of your shade
can never ever fade,
for the sun can only heat
the vengeance, with which,
no quarter has got the time to meet.

Cover my sight with your palm
and I will cover yours,
for these faces are terrible
and their voice just roars.
Hold me so tightly
that we can ram the wild beast
coming out of us and trying to engulf
this beauty,
that so far, we together, have pieced.

Today’s poem is dedicated to friendship. We make friends throughout the life. But that one friend can never be out of the list.

Friendship is not always being together, hanging out. But it’s a feeling which stays forever, no matter where you are!

Hope you like this poem. Let me know in the comments. Subscribe to read a new poem everyday!!

Mistella ❤️

Fear of Dreams (A Poem)

She didn’t sleep of the fear of dreams.
As she woke up, pushed her bed,
Walked away to see those shiny beams
Of sunlight through the curtains of the shed.

Her hands joined to pray her god,
Her eyes closed to wish for those gleams
Which he saw in her eyes and owed
His life to their shine in his dreams.

Oh! Lovely were those days,
Lovely were those tears
Which were wiped in their ways
And challenged all the fears.

So many memories she held,
So many questions she had.
Every time her love was misspelled
And made him call her a “mad”.

Humble was her request,
Humbly do she asked,
“Why can’t you come and quest
Together our dreams which have still not passed?”

Situations were her inspiration,
Situations became her enemies.
“Love’s all alike” was her motivation,
Love became her disease.

So many memories she held,
So many questions she had.
Every time her love was misspelled
And made him call her a “mad”.
Image credit- Pixabay

Again, I had written this poem long ago. But I thought I should post it today. This actually intends to say that we should love people. But this love should never make us inferior before them. Our emotions can destroy us! But when it’s balanced, the same love appears to be a motivation. So try making your love a reason behind your success.

Hope you people like this poem and learn to control your emotions, for the emotions have become the greatest enemy of the humans nowadays!

Let me know in the comments whether you enjoyed it or not. Subscribe for more poems!

With loads of love,


Hollow heads (A Poem)- #Nonet- #poetrychallange

Hollow heads hanging on the strawmen,
When knocked, sound like den, and chaos
hidden, but no room for light
To fight the battle with
darkness. Hearts grappling
with gloom, each day
Brought with

Hearts grappling
with gloom, each day
Come with
Image credit- Pixabay

About the Poem “Hollow heads”

This poetry is written in Nonet form. It’s not too long as you can see. Let me make some of the points clear about this poetry.

Hollow heads” are the heads of humans.
The word “den” refers to a secret place where some horrible idea is cooked.
Chaos” because our world has nothing to do with peace!

Light” is actually the light of knowledge. It’s not about information, but actual knowledge.
Darkness” is, of course the absence of this knowledge

Effigies come with gay” means humans are born each day. They have been referred to “effigies” because of the reason I have mentioned earlier.

Again interpreting the poem is totally left over you. I think you can understand my views and build your own too.

Taking part in Colleen’s poetry challenge. This time it’s synonyms only! This is my first attempt.

Her two prompt words are Empty and Space. My form of poetry is Nonet.

And my synonyms are Hollow and Room.

Hope you enjoy the poem. Let me know in the comments. Subscribe for more poems.

If you want to know more about Nonets, visit Colleen’s blog.
Here’s the link to it👇



Mistella ❤️

When I see these Wrinkles (A Poem)

When I look at him,
With his track suit,
Leaving for the gym,
I remember how I walked for miles
Holding your hand,
Crossing thousands of Niles.

This mirror annoys me
The most, when I see,
A wrinkled hand
Which once played with sand.
It could hold it in a fist
But now it hurts the nerve near the wrist.

I dare not go to that park
Which once used to be our home.
That pond is now shelter for a shark
Which swallows wrinkled fellows like me.

None of those couples are seen
Anymore, for long that I have been
To that world where you don’t live
And my landlord, he’s no hours for me, to give.

We may meet soon
‘coz every hour feels like a noon.
Even you look blurred to me
And you know, I’m left with nothing else to see.

This mirror annoys me
The most, when I see,
A wrinkled hand
Which once played with sand.
Image credit- Pixabay

About the Poem ” When I see these Wrinkles”

This poem is all about elderly or aged people. Our speaker is one of them. Let me make some of the lines clear to you.

First of all, this elderly wrinkled man is talking to his wife’s photograph. She isn’t alive anymore. But he has nobody to talk with. So he talks to her, even though she can’t reply.

In the first stanza, the one who is leaving for the gym is the speaker’s son. When he sees him every morning, he remembers his past with his wife.

In the second stanza, the mirror shows his wrinkled hand. He hates this as it makes him feel about his ageing. “Hurts the nerves near the wrist” refers to the pressure he applies to hold time. But nobody can hold it ever. “Sand” has been to refer time.

In the third stanza, “shark” means the speaker doesn’t have the courage to go to that place. He is ashamed of his wrinkles. It feels embarrassing to sit around young people.

In the fourth stanza, the “landlord” is his son.

In the last stanza, I have tried to show his worsening health condition. Hours feel like “noon” because it feels the most tiresome and longest part of a day.

You can understand the rest poem on your own. I think I have explained it today, way more than before.

Why this Poem today?

The purpose behind writing this poem was different today. I wanted to bring out the life of our grandparents and elderly people into light.

In India, the population of the elderly is growing rapidly. It is emerging as a serious area of concern. Their vulnerability is due to their dependence. They depend on their children who are young. When these children do not meet their expectations, they feel isolated.

According to the 2001 census, 33.1 percent of the elderly in India live without their spouses.

The widowers among older men form 14.9 percent. Also, 50.1 percent are widows among elderly women. Lack of economic dependence has an impact on their access to food, clothing, and healthcare. 

Let’s not make their wrinkles, a stigma for them.

That is what, I have tried to highlight in the poem. Hope you like it. Let me know in the comments. And subscribe for more poems.

Mistella ❤️

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