One Rare Hunger.


Hunger is an old friend
I often meet when she needs companions.
The Rare ones, here they come
atop mystic fortunes,
as they seem.
It is them who know the one old friend.
The companion of other earth
for seekers, witless.
The Rare ones know who to keep.
The silence once is the melodic dream.
Scream, Scream, Scream,
Over a pitch, higher than the sky.
The Hunger comes to every Pilgrim.
Strengths hidden in covers of denials,
All in Supreme glide.
Mellow out, here she is sleeping right to your side.
Allow her a space, more unique.
Swimmingly she guides.
the Yellow God blessing the water-filled child.
A Rare or Still the Half-wit Knight?
-Manvendra Vidyarthi.
(The Stories beneath the eyes.)


You were and you still are.


It was the unpermitted, initially I suppose.
Pressed against my diffidence
I do not know that if you know.
Nothing was better against this Noetic Cline.
For you were shine, still are.
For you were frolic, and still you are.
Touching every mouldering breath,
fixed gazes over the fence, all in vain.
My lifted heart to sense
The Dazzling, the Dancing Star.
Yes! You are.

Pinned across the walls dividing, are the fragments grown.
Maybe unknown, to the world.
Or to the girl who is the world.
A Vehement face versus the Lachrymose do nots.

It were the rains, then came the winters.
And then we leapt together, into the summers.
Even the autumns stopped by.
And the thunders, they roared from the sky.
Us? We Stood!
Drenched in the showers.
Then came our shrinking and trembling fingers.
The summers bloomed you and me into her flowers.
And in the autumns, we dropped down in for the cry.
The thunders, they never scared me.
But I chuckle to this, that you did.
(Oh! Yes! I do smile.)
And how you always made my eyes dry.

Of all the things you say
and of all those meanings you tend to portray.
Your quiddity answers them all.
If one looks deep enough or simply fall.
I took the latter and also the former first
and still intend to search for more.
For I have an insatiable thirst.

You at that end and I stay at this.
Part of us each,
not to part away.
For you were the Melodious Harp, still are.
For you were the Curious Lark, you still are.
You are the Better Half
and you will forever stay
Everything you are.

Manvendra vidyarthi
(The Stories beneath the eyes)

Lily to the Wind.

What does the Pretty Lily’s fragrance do to the Might Wind?

Gushing through the spaces in between
The Lily’s linen petals-The crown of Nature’s dreams.
Does she commingle?
Or tantalize the Mighty to bring him to his knees?

The Mighty Wind is stubborn too.
Rummaging the lands, the seas and the seasons
As lovers often do.
The Cerulean of the Nature knows,
For the Mighty,
The Lily, whenever she comes
Offers her fragrance too.
-Manvendra Vidyarthi
(The Stories beneath the eyes.)