Open Wound!

“You don’t talk to me!” She said.

“I don’t talk at nights.” I replied.

“Why? You sleep!”

“I am vulnerable at nights, like an open exposed fresh wound. I do not want anyone to caress it.”

“Why so?”

“Because I might like it.”

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I believe in Miracles!

Oh yes! I believe in miracles,

I’ve seen infinite of them.

I have seen a little bridge hold strong

under the weight of

infinite people with infinite locks in their infinite hands,

and infinite faith in their infinite hearts,

infinite names on the infinite locks,

infinite keys and their infinite dissolution in the infinite water.

An infinite wish for their infinite love,

To hold strong till infinite ends.

Blessed is the…

A compartmented repost from my post ” The Divinity of Love” posted on 17th of august in 2016…

“Today I went thru two such moments. No matter I see something like that everyday but noticing was what I did today. A cute little girl with her father! It soothes me a lot. Try it someday and see your lips curling to smile, effortlessly. I saw a girl, maybe five or seven in years, with her father sitting on their parked scooter along a roadside bhutta stall. They were sharing it turn by turn. It wasn’t like the father was the richest or was the bike was posh nor the girl was a hot teenager (which, I admit, is the only thing “expected” to hold people of my age at a place). They were turn by turn nibbling the unit bhutta ,happy and content in their world of two, disconnected from the surrounding. Sometime views like these arouse in me a feeling to be a father, of a girl child (don’t judge me as a sexist but I absolutely have no idea why a girl). To be laughing and fooling with my cute little daughter whole day round. To be tending her when she’s sick, to take her on long rides and enjoying roadside bhutta and chain rain, to be madly celebrating reasonlessly, to go with her on hikes and to play tricks on her mom with her, to go for ice creams mid nights, watching movies and never letting her lose her innocence. I feel it though I am too young a man to feel the rush of these elderly desires, but I do feel it. Given a chance I would love to forget for the rationality, the calculative me and be her loved father and crazy friend forever. Though I’m not expected to but I can feel the happiness of being called “Papa aaj office mat jao na…” by my cute daughter. Oh yes it is heavenly good feeling and I find myself doing injustice trying to comprehend it in words.”

I might survive this pang, I might survive the next pang, might survive  yet another fit…

But how many times do I survive, till I survive?

You are my art.

-Prashant Mishra 

You are god’s answer to my prayers!

-Prashant Mishra