4 poems by Sandeep Kumar Mishra : “My Father” “Body Orchard (Youth)” “Body Orchard (Older Days)” “Pebbles”

pebble beach under cloudy sky during daytime
photo by Bryn Parish (unsplash)

My Father

My father never wasted time in taking
his kids in his lap or playing with them,
he was busy in breaking mirrors, hitting the doors
or his head against a wall or slapping his children
or abusing everyone when helplessness trapped him in
the web of poverty, illness and unfulfilled desires

Orthodox and religionist in him taught us all superstitions,
and made him a sage devoid of social life, and me, almost an atheist, 
He taught us good values without letting us in his room

We had seen him write poems, 
We were not part of his universe,
The world may be familiar with his work,
but we haven't read his books as 
we have developed immunity to it,
As a good teacher, he changed
many schools and as an honest person,
he rarely attended any social gatherings or function,
He didn't tell us our history or geography,
Oblivious of siblings, locked in a closed family circle,
ignorant of our community, we live
at the borders of our social circle now

When I see any kid, I wish to be with my father,
Talk, learn and serve him but still I lack a bond,
I haven't seen him for long time
and never feel a need or pain of it

He is counting his time, his legacy some published books
and unpublished manuscripts lying in a store almirah,
The long gap between us stops me to take those few steps, 
It seems a long journey 

Upbringing and luck shapes our life,
my father was child of his misfortune
and I am child of my father

Body Orchard (Youth)

I taste these pears and peaches with my whole body,
as graceful as the first floret of springtime in a garden,
We watched for the first time a tropic moon 
descend pine- orange into our yard,
I kissed your raspberry cheek and tasted 
inviting mango juice on unbound rosy lips

“Sangam” of red roses and white lilies flow in
East- Asian almond cool aquamarine eyes,
A sharp nose pyramid a moon ring shine,
Long Thailandish slender neck and
Brazilian bloom-down-cheek’d peaches,
in your diamond apple body orchard
shaded under Indian long silky spirited locks

The plum tree in your garden is now 
bursting into flower with the promise that
snowy flower buds give birth to ripe lilac plums
this autumn when you turn sweet sixteen 

Garden fig is a glittering moist four-petalled flower,
After I strip off the blossom with my lips,
heavy with dotted green and red fruit, 
marking each interlude with musical drops

The blackberries would ripen-a purple-green,
Like a bottle of old wine, its pulp was sugary,
sun's blood in it leaving good stains upon the
tongue and desire for more pickings

Body Orchard (Older Days)

I have wild free-born cranberries, but
my garden doesn't have the forbidden fruit
For the true are cherry red and golden mango,

I have memories of  yellow daffodils and oranges
blended with the burn of colorless lemon tears,
basked in honey rays, dreamed in pomegranate
sunsets of lime hills and dulce roses
Years of sweet citrus lived in golden hours

My yellow heart pining for red fusion,
to shake the fruit that never falls,
I am alone without the temptation of apple,
Limbs entwined in  a sweet embrace 
I kissed season's hot tangerine lips

The colors of my country are spread here
with clear blue sky, sun, breeze, dew and peace,
I can see big juicy melon being sliced up
and divided between a bunch of shiny kids,
Fruit is for sharing, with friends, family and
neighbors even if your neighbors are bears or cows

I would not live to see the leaves fall yet
moment of delight in the shared fruit would live on 
I am not inclined to romanticize my toils in the orchard, 
as the aches and pains of this grove are mines only


Time smooths rainbow hardness
of tree basalt, vermilion jasper,
silvery granite and pale feldspar
with the help of humdrum
but patient jeweller of tides

Volcano-born, earthquake-quarried,
heat-cracked, wind-carved,
death shapes compact among the rocks
It drifts light as a fractured bone

When the tide uncovers
it blinks among the smashed shells,
Upset by gulls, bleached by salt and sun
the broken crockery of living things

An eagle surveys from the upland,
unsympathetic to the burdens
I have carried here,
The sea would not hug me,so I sit,
hollow as driftwood, jumbled as pebbles

Sandeep Kumar Mishra is a Bestseller author of poetry Collection "One Heart- Many Breaks-2020", An outsider artist, a poet and a lecturer ,he is guest poetry editor at Indian Poetry Review .He has received IPR Annual Poetry Award-2020 and Literary Titan Book Award-2020.He was shortlisted for "2021 International Book Awards", "Indies Today Book of the Year Award 2020" and "Joy Bale Boone Poetry Prize 2021" and "Oprelle Rise up Poetry Prize 2021".He was also "The Story Mirror Author of the Year" nominee-2019.

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By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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