Tapeshwar Prasad Yadav – Four Poems

poetTapeshwar Prasad Yadav is a Graphic Designer by profession. Presently working as an Asst. Librarian at St. Xavier’s College, Patna, Bihar (India). He was featured twice in Camel Saloon’s “The Second Hump Volume V” for best poem/editor’s pick, U.K and was ICOP: ROLL OF HONOUR thrice as Faith centered poet (2013, 2014) and Poet of ther year 2015 as Highly Commended by poet Louis Kasatkin, U.K.


EARTH IS FLAT

From the first hominid
to the recent hominin.
Curvature of earth, deflects
the axis of biped evolution
Reeling the life, rolling;
till the curtain falls on doomsday.
To act our life, vanquished

Now vexing serpent
will blow an eternal fire
to once populous land
with crowded ruin, and
by its deft murky hands
will unfurl
the flag of liberty
from the saints and the sentient:
No godly or curvy omen;
To win the myth, untold;
That earth is flat


RESPITE

Whose call, beats
inside my temple-bosom;
Sliding me, down stairs
With silent heart

With sun’s diamond ring
I eclipse my ignorance;
And paw an ocean heave
Draining out my pain

Whose call, rumbles
the dark blue skies;
Seasoning me, to pest
One more abscess

With tidal strength
I weave vertex to hex a cardiogram line;
And plunge a deep respite
Down the parched throat


ROAR

What roar is this
Peeling mountain air
by its thinnest teflon
of turbid life
to, bid me farewell
and blow me ripe

You play dice, with
Semi-loaded trigger;
Hiding steel nozzle
To put me down;
Laughing, the last remains
out of me, shooting

You were never been
So ugly of face, when
With eager eyes
I fell thy feet
And, groaning
Begged, for my life

What roar canvass
Stony ear mine,
When I lay lifeless
Dungeon deep;
You play a honk, shrieking
All my body parts

All graphite, and carbon black
What softer voice, hushed
Over the bony cage
Playing flute by its dead end

Memories are lured away
Into the crowded skies
To shovel its next space

A Requiem to repose
The dead of nether land; and
A blink of spreading silence

Take hammer of thy fist
And nurture your nerve
Commanding respect in stones

I know the writings of pen,
The tab and the touch screen;
All graphite, and carbon black


POLLUTION

If the dark clouds, are
Roaming and fuming the roads
While engines screech on the sticky tar
A timely reminder, that
We can think of
unearthing soil
for our underground residence
Wearing a seath of coffin
In peace and broad smile;
As so much of smokey congestions
Clog
The dusk
In broad daylight and after.

 

 

 

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