Poetry Collection by Prabhat Verma
My poetry is not an opinion expressed. It is a song which either arises from a bleeding wound, or from a smiling face.


Black is the ink which against this which paper strikes a contrast and yet its a conundrum that black and white be called colours alike by the colloquial and the genius!

Beyond my providence of comprehension how and why but the fact still remains, deep and embedded in the soil of our mind which however rustic to the meek, still holds the zeal of an evangelist and the freedom of a vagabond.

My rover thoughts wonder the realms of the unknown above and beyond the mystery of science among the enigma of conscience.
I experience a world which can neither be seen by the eyes nor be heard by the ears.
A world which is neither palpable nor gullible to the cynics.
Welcome to my world.
Say hello to the mist between the mystic myth and the serene reality.
Close your eyes and see beyond your line of vision.
Hear the frequencies of the unsaid and touch that which is neither felt nor yet experienced.
The concept of the fourth dimensions beguiled, bemused and boggled me for the best part of my ephemeral life.
Now let it astound you.
Let it intoxicate you to curb the venom flowing in your veins which slowly but surely erodes the foundations of what you cherish and love.
Now cognize and let me know what you understood out of these lines for I have managed to utterly confuse my own humble self this time on.
I am tautly bacchanalian and seems like I am writing this under the influence. Take your best guess.


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