On the Passing Thought

Oh yes, tired I am and its the best one could be after a world of doing and not-doing,

After all, who doesn’t when a world is on the verge of completion and another’s set for the dawn…


A passing thought in all the bleakness of the thinking and letting the pen go haywire,

Beautiful it is, the oblivion and a termination of any belief setting the path straight,

The urge to be logical with every world set, unsaid for the people looking at you with the everlasting hope,

A true incarnation of everything believable, everything tangible, everything absolutely just in the eyes of god.


Oh yes, it is true that I am lost and distracted, hence the poet’s at loss of the insight and invisible to his being,

I wouldn’t usually be, for their always is the darkest cave to take the head of shame and shed some tears out.

Tears, they speak all words thirsty of expression and meaning, always a paper to tear and start afresh from whatever it is,

A bit of sensing that in all this silence, there’s always that’s a miss and now, there’s something/somewhere to go object.

Had there been such a reality, merrier him would have been in this creative confusion letting all things die down a quest,

Only had there been a alteration, where the words would fly and they would understand that this just isn’t the end.

They thought it could be it and I, in all my wits accepted and embraced and let it all go a painful death, as easy it could be,

As seamless it could be, as fitting it could be and in the course of unfinished thoughts, a final word not said, no accepted.


It all went a distance, the flare of all the dance and happiness and parted homes with the emptiness there once was,

In all the known powers of those who believed and did it all without even thinking how did it all was supposed to happen.

Does it make sense, these words and the meaning they weld to procreate? Oh yes, they do, for me they do and that’s all there is,

For me to say and speaking of all I have to say, it may be amiss to all which should have been said and done at places choicest.


Let the ball roll and the music scroll till the fires name their price of snowing down for the need to justice to me,

Let them bark their insanity in my ears at the dawn of my finest personality as I flutter all eternity to make me real.

Of course, they are where they ought be and I be where I need to be and need not to bluff a bit on what’s been done here,

For they ought to be oblivious to me and my passing thought and make me wonder how this thought dawned in the first place.

In all its determination can it make me sleep with its priceless poison that I procured from its deepest secure vaults,

And made peace with its possessions, the control of the day and the night and wings of death that held my hand and asked me not.

I present to you my deepest fear, the cause of where it all started and where it is supposed to end, the idea, the execution, the reality,

The pain of not doing enough for all times sake and being where I already am and comfortable with being one with it.

Stupidity enough? The highest of ’em of all? Knowing-unknowing where it will lead, a poison swimming pool in the most exalted sun?

Or a ride their crown palace and direst explanation to his-highness the king of jeopardy and a sudden surrender to things natural?


As the deep ride just begins, of all things visible, there is a bit unknown fear yet undiscussed, yet I discuss them all,

I don’t know, I just don’t if you ask me right now or evermore in my wakefulness because this is a bit of chase.

I follow it down the rabbit hole of my liberty to accept that everything they do is all great as their stories speak for themselves,

I wonder what is it that I pray tell and let them know that this is what I know and I put it all in spotlight for them to see.

There, for once, no game as it all is dusted from the peripheries of my past and the people residing there is abducted, gone,

There, let for me is to wail and wonder as to what there was right and what now there is so miserably wrong, for it is all, but wrong.


Oh yes, I just keep on writing, putting it all down in one go as I walk besides the dreadful beginning and head over to even dreadful end,

The end of being in a passing thought that corrects the wanderer who once wandered to be found and now is all dreadfully lost.

A picnic in the dusty prison of past, a course set right to clean it all, an event so fine to willingly go past the invitation and be merry,

A low-lying burn to set the place on fire, never to look back and stare at its lost glory which eventfully was unacceptable to those.


I remember one such programme, it was all so warm and I was set right on the cozy floor and the words printed reality on the walls,

A reality, such a depiction of beauty, pray it was so pure and stormy for my wakefulness to go astray and make me one with me.

Oh yes, such words and such a promise as theirs to come back to me with in all their graceful dresses and perfumes,

Such a liar, they and such a malign, me, that they didn’t appear and I didn’t invited them ever again and all went in vain.

A wish once lasted a heaven and a reality lasted a hell and yet us both be in our worlds be nothing more than a forgotten prayer,

Some unwritten paper flying in the room full of eternal fires and me dancing it all with this visible sight of the dangerous end.


Lastly, there is just one thing left in this piece to say, and I say with all my guts out like the last breath on the unending race,

That I have nothing more to say and it’s all there is in me that I ever could say to all things foolish.

So, be happy and be contended as I have left on the wagon where you couldn’t see me atlast and you wish be fulfilled,

As I wish to be the everlast and I wish to be me and there’s no meaning for you here to stay. So, be lost and never be back…


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So Far, So Good

Speak, Dear Life



Yetesh Sharma