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Mohabbat

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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Love,

Mistella

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]

Love,

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.

Love,

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:)

Love,

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:

https://shortprose.blog/2019/10/25/the-lonely-poetry-of-night-poem-poetry/

I’m sure you will enjoy it.

Love,

Mistella❤️

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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Love,

Mistella😊

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,

Mistella🙂

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!!

Love,
Mistella ❤️

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