She

 

She was not the glowing cinder, remnant of a fire,

She was the tall flames, that leapt with desire.

She was not a feather, that glided gently, too light,

She preferred to swiftly cut through the clouds, like a paper kite.

She was not the tender wavelets, which caressed the sand,

She was the mighty torrent, which overwhelmed the land.

She was not the sweet breeze of a summer afternoon,

She was the storm, which pulled high tides towards the moon.

She bravely conceals healed wounds in her heart,

Hiding the scars of love is also an art.

                                                                                            

                                          

                                                                                                                                       

                                                                                                 Niharika Prasad

I would sing my song

 

It took me several years to realize, our love so profound,

that my heart would always crave the sea,

To her, I would always be bound,

without the oceanic, I can never be.

That my heart would never be constant,

It would mould with every gush of emotion,

Just like the sea is discontent,

with frothing waves always in motion.

It carves the shore, in a similar way,

with every gush of high tide,

Just like sand dunes remold night and day,

Or the many-hued flutter of a butterfly's pride.

I would long for wavelets to caress my feet,

to lie at ease on a sun-kissed beach,

My heart would never cease to beat,

in rhythm, where the tall waves reach.

Broken shells on its side are proof,

that it can be ruthless in its ferocity,

and then there are times it lies aloof,

nesting a rosy sunset, in its generosity

I too realize, I will never be constant,

not finding solace in a song, a company or wine,

that I can swing in an instant,

Like these blue ripples divine.

That I would always be a wanderer

humming in contentment, even in solitude,

Just like cool waves in a sunny blur,

I would sing my song with fortitude.

                                                                                                                      Niharika Prasad

Carnations

 

Making my way through brown, dry leaves,

Which pave the way, like parched, crumpled bits of paper.

Silently, my heart grieves,

As the past slowly fades, similar to a vapour.

 

Uncertainty envelops me, like a grey mist,

As my feet create a rustle, amongst dead summer fronds.

I search for feelings that did subsist,

As my heart frees itself, from all past bonds.

 

My toes long to dig into moist, soft sand,

My eyes, to be mesmerized by eternal, rosy sunsets.

I search for an escape from this dry land,

To wander into a newness, one with no regrets.

 

To the lush, green carpet of grass,

To the dew-studded, rows of carnations,

Where my heart is safe, even though made of glass,

Where it speaks through words, free from imitations.

Niharika Prasad

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Only You

 

So you are ignoring me today?

Yet, I shall continue to disturb you.

Do you think you can drive me away?

Do you think I have no clue?

No clue as to why you seem so desolate, 

Maybe, if I dig my toenail into your gritty bed,

Would it be a strategy too late?

If I stole all of your shells instead?

Don't be ridiculous, you are no metaphor,

My love is real, it always was.

Tell who is that meddler?

Our story can never have a pause.

Only you can control my darting feet,

with a mighty strong wave,

Only you can save me from the August heat,

Those cool ripples I crave.

Will, you let me go so easily,

Would you throw me in the heartless winter?

Will you dodge all responsibility breezily?

As if ours was a fling, which does not linger.

Niharika Prasad