Submissions by Gagan
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
My name is Gagan and I am a poet.
Dreaming Eternity
The music. The rain. The Silence.
Breath in, breath out.
The melancholic longing. The music ripples, in my consciousness.
Thoughts lurking, trying to find their way around.
I exist. I am known.
But the music goes on playing and the dance goes on and on.
The music has stopped.
Nothing but the sound of rain keeping me awake.
Breath in, breath out.
The melancholic longing. The music ripples, in my consciousness.
Thoughts lurking, trying to find their way around.
I exist. I am known.
But the music goes on playing and the dance goes on and on.
The music has stopped.
Nothing but the sound of rain keeping me awake.
487 reads
1 Comment
Love Song
Love is the Answer.
But what was the question. Dumbfuck'
Bang! noise outside.
The eternal dream. The dream of dreaming.
Can eyes show soul? Can I see your eyes.
I need a girl to love me badly,
And I will love her madly.
Sit. Listen. Question.
Where did you go wrong.
You kept thinking about love and you forgot to love.
Sad it is. And here I still speak.
I can't even write love songs, anymore.
There is this girl in my head.
But I am unable to picture her.
Still I Love You. Time holds this secret.
Goffy grin in my consciousness.
The...
But what was the question. Dumbfuck'
Bang! noise outside.
The eternal dream. The dream of dreaming.
Can eyes show soul? Can I see your eyes.
I need a girl to love me badly,
And I will love her madly.
Sit. Listen. Question.
Where did you go wrong.
You kept thinking about love and you forgot to love.
Sad it is. And here I still speak.
I can't even write love songs, anymore.
There is this girl in my head.
But I am unable to picture her.
Still I Love You. Time holds this secret.
Goffy grin in my consciousness.
The...
458 reads
0 Comments
Cry of a Soul
I write.
Maybe I write another line
Haiku's are fine.
Almost funny, almost sad.
It sounds miserable
And strange.
Birds chirping outside.
I feel mellow, I am, I don't know
Help me.
Maybe I write another line
Haiku's are fine.
Almost funny, almost sad.
It sounds miserable
And strange.
Birds chirping outside.
I feel mellow, I am, I don't know
Help me.
478 reads
0 Comments
Annelise not Jane
Who says? what? who says?
why? In New York city.
I don't remember. I was stoned.
What! That's John Mayer, right?
O yes O yes, Like Neal Cassidy.
Beautiful and Bullshit, man.
DON'T RIP OFF.
That was Jane and Mickey like Neal Cassidy.
Hold on, It's around the corner.
I will get it for you, My poor Mickey.
But how can you?
I don't trust you.
I don't trust myself.
What I started, this bullshit lines of hopeless words.
Who says, I love you.
I love Annelise.
why? In New York city.
I don't remember. I was stoned.
What! That's John Mayer, right?
O yes O yes, Like Neal Cassidy.
Beautiful and Bullshit, man.
DON'T RIP OFF.
That was Jane and Mickey like Neal Cassidy.
Hold on, It's around the corner.
I will get it for you, My poor Mickey.
But how can you?
I don't trust you.
I don't trust myself.
What I started, this bullshit lines of hopeless words.
Who says, I love you.
I love Annelise.
460 reads
0 Comments
El Manana
Push it along, maybe I sing a song.
Fill the void.
Paint it with colors deep inside your mind, No mad rush.
Let it roll, slow. A little slow, baby.
I see you right now. Your crooked gorgeous face.
I love you. El Manana.
Fill the void.
Paint it with colors deep inside your mind, No mad rush.
Let it roll, slow. A little slow, baby.
I see you right now. Your crooked gorgeous face.
I love you. El Manana.
511 reads
2 Comments
No Reason
495 reads
0 Comments
An Ode to an act of Wondering.
why so serious I get.
I got, I forgot.
Funny.
I got, I forgot.
Funny.
481 reads
0 Comments
Talk with Dead -Beat-Poets.
Life is becoming words, Or words life
An ugly truth.
Poetry is no answer
But you can talk with dead-beats.
They talk of the same confusion and question
But silence shuts us.
The emptiness connects us.
Listen them talk of the same emptiness filled with their own wanderings, epiphany, sadness, joy and everything.
Though I really don't know anything.
Words are hopeless for an unsure egoist, Mr.Creeley told me.
So where are my hopes?
Do you have it for me?
The more I write, the more I spit bull-shit.
Wish it was some mad...
An ugly truth.
Poetry is no answer
But you can talk with dead-beats.
They talk of the same confusion and question
But silence shuts us.
The emptiness connects us.
Listen them talk of the same emptiness filled with their own wanderings, epiphany, sadness, joy and everything.
Though I really don't know anything.
Words are hopeless for an unsure egoist, Mr.Creeley told me.
So where are my hopes?
Do you have it for me?
The more I write, the more I spit bull-shit.
Wish it was some mad...
565 reads
1 Comment
As If in Love
Why do I even see your face?
You are beautiful
Your eyes penetrate my soul.
I wish we had already kissed,
But we don't even talk
Sometimes we catch each other staring,
But we don't even smile.
I wish we were already talking mad,
As if in love.
You are beautiful
Your eyes penetrate my soul.
I wish we had already kissed,
But we don't even talk
Sometimes we catch each other staring,
But we don't even smile.
I wish we were already talking mad,
As if in love.
527 reads
0 Comments
Oh! It's Raining
I leaned outside the window
The day, dark and gloomy
Hazy view, stormy horizon
Feels like déjà vu
My bones frigid and skin weary
Oh! It’s raining
I feel sad
It’s cold, covered in blanket I read
Tales of beatniks, philosophers and holy saints
Their quest of sanity and divine revelation
It’s foggy, dreary yet serene
wondering mind and poisoning solitude
Still gratifying and soul shaking
Oh! It’s raining
Maybe I pray for sunlight
It’s been a while, locked up inside
Buzz in my head, restless
They don't seem to...
The day, dark and gloomy
Hazy view, stormy horizon
Feels like déjà vu
My bones frigid and skin weary
Oh! It’s raining
I feel sad
It’s cold, covered in blanket I read
Tales of beatniks, philosophers and holy saints
Their quest of sanity and divine revelation
It’s foggy, dreary yet serene
wondering mind and poisoning solitude
Still gratifying and soul shaking
Oh! It’s raining
Maybe I pray for sunlight
It’s been a while, locked up inside
Buzz in my head, restless
They don't seem to...
521 reads
1 Comment
Empty Talk
So I type in my laptop, the weapon of modern day survival.
But it's hard for thoughts to transmute into words and write itself out of emptiness.
The emptiness in solitude. The emptiness between you and the solitude.
No thoughts or dream interference. No human soul to trip you over.
The emptiness that is eternal. Without dreams of future or memories of past.
The emptiness when it's you alone in your room, trying to write but you are outta feel.
The emptiness that haunts you all your life.
You got big money, this emptiness still haunts.
You got a...
But it's hard for thoughts to transmute into words and write itself out of emptiness.
The emptiness in solitude. The emptiness between you and the solitude.
No thoughts or dream interference. No human soul to trip you over.
The emptiness that is eternal. Without dreams of future or memories of past.
The emptiness when it's you alone in your room, trying to write but you are outta feel.
The emptiness that haunts you all your life.
You got big money, this emptiness still haunts.
You got a...
624 reads
1 Comment
Instant High
the rush and pulse of pure electricity.
Body trembling-soul elevating-mind wandering voraciously
tornado of thoughts-unthinkable-beyond reality
purely imagination, hallucination! hallucination!
stories unfolding, building-up, automatically
creating itself in the womb of existence
painting the whole of creation with hues of bewilderment
the love, the flesh,the birth and the death.
Oh! Samsara, where Shiva dwells in filth and glamour
spell-bound in Maya, ecstatic-ephemeral-hour
anxiety-stupor-visions and dazzling horror
chanting the mantra...
Body trembling-soul elevating-mind wandering voraciously
tornado of thoughts-unthinkable-beyond reality
purely imagination, hallucination! hallucination!
stories unfolding, building-up, automatically
creating itself in the womb of existence
painting the whole of creation with hues of bewilderment
the love, the flesh,the birth and the death.
Oh! Samsara, where Shiva dwells in filth and glamour
spell-bound in Maya, ecstatic-ephemeral-hour
anxiety-stupor-visions and dazzling horror
chanting the mantra...
547 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by Gagan
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