Poetry Writing with Yogesh Chandra
Provocative Syndrome
Or live at least to see another day, in which Some irregular weave is not appreciated and this is not in the scripts Altered by insane lines of chastity, Which undergoes profound and premature charisma What ought to be done when the silent are provoked Or the casual horses of Tuesday, who so peacefully graze on top of that merciful land And this is not the end, or that word which tries to snap at you Out into vulnerability and every attachment beside it Such seclusion surrounding several sentimental souls will never be subjected to sentences for a lifetime Several lines will move in erratic patterns And one will try to bring you down, and in such cruelty of the kind hearts Or the morality of the majorly absent birds Where to shall we look for an undisturbed fragment, Or that caring pigeon which will never ask of anything? Cold winds but it is never such cold as they say Or even the tiniest warmth of the incoming tray of words When the blunt so bewilderingly blotch such ecstasy And it will strike that is yours That day when a thought did try to please, Beside a coconut tree surrounded by new and open emotions And the high which never left or the low which forever stayed Now, and never did before, all will shake You cannot think nor can the treacherous, And where is this poignant truth which takes away everyone? And the next word, but the wise cannot even think for themselves now That day at the psychology lecture, one did mention to art of calmness But what has happened to those fancy words now It seems to have been fictitiously brought up by a seventh century man But it always finds a weak point and it will revolve its untrue virtue And it will not find you or bring you any salvation For the wise never slept, and the wrecked imagination It will never be spoiled or that uncalled word And who will ever prevent that?
-Yogesh Chandra
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