P.V. Sindhu (Acrostic)


Point by point, She scored our hearts away.
Victorious, regardless of what the world says.
She poured in, what is more than all the gold.
In every moment of the hour, it was her heart, her soul.
Not even when it was all over, she did fall.
Dazzling like a star, she lifted the girl’s face like a true power.
Honour and pride she brings to her home.
Until the next hour, we are sure, with this, there will be gold.

– Manvendra Vidyarthi
(The Stories beneath the eyes)

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Not yours

Forced calmness you have put over your face.
There is the rattle over there
plundering the people’s gaze.
Hey friend! You are an imagination.
Silence is here. In her little palms cared.
To the days where memories hold on.
My anger and my knives are drawn.
By the breeze of your distant country.
The rage which is now cold, stares.
Beyond the  oblivion, it stays.
Wash the faces and the embodied selves.
It will drain, but such cleansing is of no help.
You are poor. Poor out of the inhumane.
Go tell the merry makers where we store our sins.
Of the calmness forced upon them.
They will think and for you,
unknowingly they will bring.
What is not yours and I go out of words.
-Manvendra Vidyarthi
(The Stories beneath the eyes)

Becoming Dice

Silently you stepped over
to purchase the other side
of the line that had us separated
from all we would rather be.

The game had you roll like a dice.
Unaware of the numbers we were to face.
And the chances slipped from spaces
between our fingers where we held the same.
Belonging to us.
Not you. Not me. It was  us.

The key to the lock we have,
now rests on the ocean bed.
“Two is the number now, one is not.”
The Dice tells.
-Manvendra Vidyarthi.
(The Stories beneath the eyes)



Dear April, now that you have returned to me.
Enamoured of your poesy I am still here.
Now the beaches eat more sand and on the other hand.
You run at the touch of the sea and giggle at me.
Only you are cognizant of what you make of me.
A Liar, a deluded being in dreams we talked of, to the moon.
You perch to the right spots,
and that goes for the both of your natures.
Influencing as they please.
Often I come across the Junes and the Mays.
But I know now since I have lived as a December.
That only the poems of April are the ones I feel.

-Manvendra Vidyarthi
(The Stories beneath the eyes)

Undo my wrongly done.


The lies touch like gentle smiles.
More kind looking than all.
Undo my wrongly done.
I remain still unknown.
The rude is harsh once, twice blunt.
Undo my wrongly done.
I am the trust holding none.
The faces turn warm and then blue.
Undo my wrongly done
to efface all of my harm.
– Manvendra Vidyarthi.
(The Stories beneath the eyes.)

Do Not Tell.


Sew this promise to your skin-
You shall not tell.
Even when,
Everything force onto you-
“Will you not tell?”
But you shall not. To none.
The reason you know
is buried deep where the answers emanate.
They might say you hide.
Let them be for they know
of none of the meanings and
feelings true.
And of the promises sewn to your skin.
The hope you cling to
is not to lose the ones you carry a tell for.
Because when you are true
and they too are true.
There remains none such powers wanting
you to have slippery grips.
They shall be attached on their own to your hands.
-Manvendra Vidyarthi.
(The Stories beneath the eyes.)



Chained to the virtual.
These legs,
they are not meant to stumble.
Though they do
and on every stone
they stumble upon.
These hands exist
to embrace them for their nature.
For it is just.
From them, the heart and mind are
unpacking the souvenirs.
The Living and the Dead showcase.
These paints from which
the faces are now covered with.
Falling on the chest with every step
moving ahead.
Thanking the heart by making him absorb all.
The suitcase is forever empty.
Fill in some more love.
-Manvendra Vidyarthi
(The Stories beneath the eyes)

Respect is a desideratum


O Heart! O Formidable Heart!
For the mankind you are such.
You know the god like powers
to sway the rigids and the fickling
on sides where your purpose lie.

O Heart! The Sadness, She steps by
to meet me in many corners,
Of this world I find.
“Respect is a desideratum.”
Then why? O Heart! O Sadness!
Do men forget this for,
the men on the other side.
-Manvendra Vidyarthi
(The Stories beneath the eyes)

Your Colour


My distant, for I keep you such
and you are the closest I have touched.
A Question confronts you-
You bleed so much blue for
a person you keep far
inside your soft heart.
Does your one bleeding colours
that mix and fills this soft heart?
-Manvendra Vidyarthi
(-The Stories Beneath the eyes.)