There are problems in my life, Because i don’t wake up at five.

There are problems in my life,
Because i don’t wake up at five.
All my good friends greet me early:
The sun, the birds,the dogs,& ‘milkha’ the milkman.
While I prefer to slouch low, I coveting a cozy cloth.
I try to curl inwards, I squinch like a scared-sloth.

There are problems in my life,
Because i don’t wake up at five.
All the good things happened, but yesterday.
why to wake up again & lose them today?
why to revive a conscience from a nausea?
why to choose reality above nostalgia?

There are problems in my life,
because i don’t wake up at five.
i doused myself in gallons of grog.
i devoured on meat like a savaging rogue.
I danced on music till its overmorrow.
I howled like a wolf redeeming the sorrow.

Wake up late

Waking up late..oops! & snooze!

 

There are problems in my life,
because i don’t wake up at five.
All the klocks & karma, just keep ticking away.
& i couldn’t take so much, losing just everyday.
So i slept some-more, wishing a fresh stay.
I dream-borne a place, made of sun & hay.

There are problems in my life,
because i don’t wake up at five.
All the solutions never work much late.
all the advisers never meet belate(d).
No one’s there, when i wake-up half past day.
Neither angels of rescue nor mighty-might i pray.

There are problems in my life,
Because i don’t wake up at five.
i will try to do so tomorrow & run a million-mile.
i haven’t seen an awakening day, for more than some-while.
All is not lost but today,I woke up again later than late.
All is to be won tomorrow, i must not mourn further today.

~waking up early solves most problems of the day.

*Overmorrow – ({obsolete word,using for three purposes-} Meaning – Day after tomorrow. Purpose– . 1. Adds  to Rhyme 2.To add implausibility, to weaken the argument of not waking up early 3. ‘Dance till there’s no tomorrow’, is an overused phrase & a cliche.Further i feel, there’s no poetic bliss in that just sophistry, a hackneyed hipster idea & phraseology).

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The M-town Song

An Ode to Manipal, the rains & the freedom, through countless memories of Manipalites.
~In my humble opinion, some of the Manipal experiences are incomplete without the Summer stay~

( slideshow at page bottom)

 

 (1) Semester – I  

In  microcosm of life’s grand revel,
Nostalgia protrudes at higher level.
It skips an odd heartbeat,
It is too abstract to tweet.

 (2) Semester – II 

To comprehend, an abundance of cherishes.
Or contemplate on striations of regrets.
To redeem in throes of realization,
Or simply slack, in a mediocre retract.

 (3) Summer-I 

Through the ever changing sky, in those days.
A philosophy of life was reflected, in multiple ways.
When clouds & town-sun, be brightly a-blazed.
Most dull of souls, be then sprightly engaged.
Such times run away, too fast in few moments.
Whether bitter-sweet, but sung in a rising crescendo.
To the higher octave, it burgeons akin a Beethoven.

 

 (4) Semester-III 

Sober through remainder it spreads.
befalls & fades like a farewell rainbow.
left no more such days to stow.
Neither any tropical sun would glow,
nor many thundering storms now blow.

 (5) Semester-IV 

But it sings sometime, in an odd background score.
Fallen behind the curtains, of a new lesser decor.
shines through its silhouette, outlining the sheen of memories.
Whether bitter-sweet, but sung in a rising crescendo.
To the higher octave, it burgeons akin a Beethoven.

 (6) Summer-II  

When the younger days are slipping, now further away in ages.
& tiresomely i flipped back, to the old diary pages.
Those ripe & yellow, their smell enliven a million things.
& some of them were personal, so it silently brings.
In the microcosm of every broad-bold pattern,
Lays a melody, formed from most abstract notes.

 (7) Semester-V  

It simply skips a heartbeat –
To comprehend in abundance,
To cherish or regret,
To redeem or retract.

  (8) Semester-VI

When the sky changes its color,
When the rain pours its fervor,
When the wind sweeps, through broad-leafy trees.
& them flavors a life, nesting in a Shangri-La harmony.
It transcends across the seen & yet to be.
Whether bitter-sweet, but sung in a rising crescendo.
To the higher octave, it burgeons akin a Beethoven.

  (9) Summer-III  

Now a night sky remains, all in our sober tomorrow.
But in glory of M-town song, whether joy or sorrow.
Through countless moments,
Through priceless picturesque,
Every-new passing day, it ripens in a Technicolor.
Every-new shelving memory, it bemoans like a yearning lover.

  (10) Semester-VII  

So i will revere to the M-town song.
Let it reach to a chorus & enliven another moment.
Let it sing more to the less of us, to replete our very voids.
Let it orchestrate a niche, like an old cult ritual.
Let it flow through pages, lapse tenses in statute-spiritual.
Epitomes of this spirit, when our superfluous is hew.
The people we met & those things we did hold true.

 (11) Final Project-I

So let it give me a sight,
Let it memoir tonight,
Let it bring back delight.
Whether bitter-sweet, but sung in a divine crescendo.
Let us rhyme, sing & groove to the M-town song.

~Convocated, Graduated~

IMG-20150515-WA0000

~ Fin, Prost!~

-Vishu Mishra
July 10, 2015

~ (MIT, E&E, Batch-07′ )~

Cherish & Share this ode with every Manipalite.

~Photos courtesy : KMC-Alumni -Shuchi Kataruka | Pics Dated : June,2015 ~

~Watch the Slideshow for more pictures | Thank you for visiting|~
~Regards & God-Bless
~

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The M-town Song

The M-town Song

you’re something, something wrong.

you’re the microphone, wired to wrong speakers.
I sing a melody,It emits a cacophony.
I narrate my ethos, it sounds out pathos.
I converge few opinions,it splinters into billions.

you’re the Cable box,wired to bad TV.
I tune sports with remote,it always shifts to emote.
I turn comedy for laughter, it loses volume & thereafter.
I choose picturesque & panorama, It throws talk shows & melodrama.

you’re the smart phone,updated to bad soft-wares.
They’re jelly-friendly & bean-easy,Ginger bread is extra cheesy.
you’re the twitter bird, tweeting to bad trends.
They are chirping to chirps,they are burping to burps.

you’re the lone live wire,insatiable for the negative bend.
you’re the ‘danger’ caution board,on the verge of a shocking end.
you’re the barb wire cutting all,through blades in it’s selfie.
you’re the merciless touch, charring innocent to its meltie.

 

~15-03-2015

 

Vishu Mishra

 

You're something, something wrong

You’re something, something wrong