Sandeep Kulshrestha's Poetry

  When the sun stretches its golden arms, and the morning whispers your name, I think of you, steady as the tide, warm as the hearth, a beacon in the quiet storm.   Your laughter, a melody that dances through the chaos, a song I hum when the world grows heavy. Your spirit, unyielding, a tree rooted deep, its branches reaching for the infinite sky.   In your presence, I am more. Not because you fill me, but because you remind me of the light I carry within. You are the mirror that reflects the beauty I often forget.   Together, we are a symphony— not perfect, but alive, each note a testament to the joy of being seen, of being known. You are my safe harbour, my compass in the wild, my friend, my love, my vista   And when the night falls, and the stars blink awake, I will rise with you not above, not below, but besides, always besides, in the quiet grace of this boundless love.   And when the night descen...

  I was smitten by the silence of the dawn, or perhaps it was the dew that clung to the grass like a secret too fragile to speak. The trees stood tall, their leaves whispering stories of nights spent wrestling the wind, and I thought it was just me but the sparrow, too, carried the weight of its nest, the ant its crumb, the spider its web, each thread trembling with the burden of holding on.   The sun rose, not with a fanfare, but with a quiet insistence, pushing through the haze like a hand reaching for a forgotten name.   A butterfly brushed past, its wings a flicker of pale yellow against the orange sky, and I thought it was just me but the flower, too, had its petals to unfurl, its nectar to offer, its brief, bright moment in the sun.   The path stretched ahead, winding through the shadows and the light, and I thought it was just me but the earth, too, had its cracks to mend, its roots to...

Hope is a green vine, climbing the walls of the forgotten, its tendrils reaching for the sun even in the hour of shadows. It does not ask permission— it grows, it persists, it wraps itself around the ruins and whispers, “Me Voici”   Hope is the sea, vast and untamed, its salt on your lips, its rhythm in your chest. It does not sleep it rises, it falls, it carries you even when you cannot see the shore.   Hope is the bread broken in the darkest hour, the warmth of shared hands, the taste of something that will not let you starve. It does not explain it feeds, it sustains, it says, Come, eat, there is enough for everyone.   Hope is the bird that sings at the edge of dawn, its song a thread stitching the torn sky. It does not falter it calls, it rises, it reminds you that the night is not eternal. Hope is the hand you did not expect to hold yours, the voice that says your name when the silence is too loud. It does not abandon it stays, it breathes, it says, You are not alone...

  Sometimes the illusion of a happening happens sometimes the emotions roll over sometimes the pathogens of spilled over desire sabotages the pilgrimage of the heart sometimes it is good to divert attention towards the non-attentive nerves sometimes it is okay to be what we are sometimes it is really a exhilaration of the existential to be  in those moments of rapture where time ceases to exist and you and me measure the moment through a deeper turmoil of being alive sometimes it is good to fall sometimes the brain functions paralyzes and the raw nerves get pricked up sometimes we gain our sanity by responding to the deep trance of the emotional and the physical Sometimes we need to paraphrase guilt when love envelopes our being, there is an absence of guilt and presence of something divine, something which cannot be deciphered, defined or  even transferred to someone else's perspective What happened was something that would have happened in a dream Sometimes there is a n...

  I was bitten by my inadequacies Or thoughts of disbelief and trance merged together with a conscious shock this Thursday and I thought it was just me someone would have lost their job last week someone's partner would have departed someone's toxic boss would have thrown venom of the tongue all over her someone would have missed a meal someone would have negotiated a bad deal A chef would have goofed up with a sourdough which was meant for the Wall Street type Someone would have been fooled by a hype of a political figure who apparently was merely a mask I was just bitten by a random dog All reaction

Circa 1993, a splendid corrosion of old identities   dissolved at a business school   the mindset of allowing   new ipseity to harness itself   took me to my new evanescent dream   which was never to be   a cursory stealing glance from her   through my accounting notes   was enough fodder for my anticipation   somehow lead us to exchange our phone numbers   and the first call was missed   as I was away, attending the “beating retreat”,   a celebration of the republic   it was a joy of the superlative kind   can’t manifest here, in few words   the news of a phone call was full of a beatitude   Delhi was never so beautiful   the next wintry day   made me see   a girl in shawl over few cups of tea   over the terrace of an old building,   a makeshift education space   I scatterbrained myself, off...

Coffee brewed in my mind when the drizzling Sunday morning arrived and I thought that a warm luscious chocolatey muffin could give a good company to the decadent latte and I drove down silly to the space where the endearing muffin dictates taste and aroma to the unwitting cup of a brown liquid which had an ancestry of beans  not so long back Muffin, all yawning and in its day dreams was just out of the oven not yet properly garnished or displayed it was raw and fresh and kind suddenly everything became uncluttered  and the naughty glimpse of the sun dislodged me completely and when I came out of my reverie the muffin had cleverly melted in my soul Sunday mornings can be so appetizing! 

  Emulsified into a new mode of being, a new luminescence acts as a metaphor  of breaking the shackles  of the past clutter of wilderness  The jumping rhapsody of vision has led to this new clarity as if a newest testament has been revealed and new ideals have emerged I have grown into a virtuous self of sorts looking at each moment of seeing within as a way of understanding the world  Through the lens of a kind of self-renaissance,  the world we live in Is superficially old and yet surprisingly new, In the “here and now” we exist We are always on a path of renewal and this transformative beam of light Is a new room I live in Life is but a breathtaking journey, If only the hearts are open to see other hearts melting for you

  I know what I am saying is sort of a cliché that you are wonderful and your kind demeanor creates a surreal bond of which I do not have most appropriate  words or phrases but to say you are wonderful this flavor of being connected to an indefinable sweet energy field is beyond the frontiers of many minds my narcissistic self at least feels so that what I feel for you no one else can do and it sounds such a simple poem as if it is a ballad of a teen fantasy but then I think of you  more than I should think of you In this wonderous spirit of life you give me a reason to believe that someone could be so wonderful as you are  

Tyranny is human made and so is the chocolate mousse or mobile phones or sleeping pills excessive chocolate mousse in its larger impact may get appointment to the dentist closer to a cozy dinner with a loved one a tyrant's fury may leave you emotionally naked and physically wounded the exhaustion can look like death or a hazy perception of  something bigger taken away that something bigger is plain and simple life in its mundane as well as interesting forms of calling the plumber when the hose is leaking or to call mother on mother's day or to genuinely get hung over when it was not needed the tyrant takes it all away all it takes is a simple word - hate mobile phones come in various technically incomprehensible jargon while the tyrant disseminates the very sense of the breath that keeps us alive tyrant looks like a human while a pastry chef is a human, or the person who works at the car clean shop we have forgotten one thing in the bargain of knowing the truth that...

My verse when it revolves around thinking of you in a way that is a strange mix of yearning and a smile has there two words in common, "missing you" and it is perplexing because whenever I write these two words, I do really miss you and it changes the plot whatever I write turns into pure yearning Today, I thought of devising a plan I will not say that I miss you henceforth can I replace there words with a set of five or six words, like "in the aura of your sweetness" or "meddling my thoughts with you" or even, "in love with your existence?" People may argue that words are creation of a human mind so what will happen If I keep on saying that I am "missing you"? I am not aware of someone else' thoughts I do not want to trade off yearning with desperation If I am in love with your existence I see you everywhere hence, no point of saying that I miss you Now this decision looks like it will not change and I feel relived in a certain way...

Few hours are already gone but the aroma of that one hour in the morning today brilliantly matches the feeling that you get when you meet someone who is prepossessing, with the eyes that sparkle perpetually and the wise fragrance of the warmth that starts with a generous hug and sets the day as a therapy in action that beautiful heartful hour when the city was flirting with half sun and half of patchy clouds, was a kind of a poem if one considers steaming breakfast and a animated chatter with a loving human as a complete verse All of it, now that I recall was like a spiritual serendipity, a subtle mindfulness something that I really wish I can describe in these random lines Soulful connections do not always happen randomly there is this organic urge to meet, confabulate and ignite our worlds with each others' presence Your presence is a soothing tender balm and as I take this deep breath and close my eyes I imagine this day would perch in my mind as a sunny bright day where the coo...

This is why I know you and my calculation of the heart revolves around the myths I manufacture around me I have my reasons sorted out or so they seem to be it is about me and what I perceive I believe in I love to have that meaning that defines me When I walk that boulevard with you I look at the colorless rain filled sky and your red color fashion statement howsoever absurd it may seem tends to reflect your candor or that's what I gather there are many "I's" in what I am writing here When I close my eyes and try to breathe deeper while flying from one thought to other silly innuendo I see you face, clear without blemishes and in the circle of white translucent light smiling, head tilted towards me while you listen to what I say When I look at everything with love I seem to transcend the transactional the semantics of you and me is surely menial to what we feel when we sit quietly with each others' warmth If I just "be", I am me and you are you  

From moronic silly conversations to self pathos the tumultuous years have gone by leaving me more vulnerable and defeated  than ever before I thought so as much and it just happened all the fictions of the past are real nothing is metaphorical  not because my heart says so  not because you still admire my false naivety I struggle  with my self-pity and the realization that the time of some benign work does not sound extraordinarily comforting My insecurities have given me the courage in some ways to say this to you I am a figurehead of anomalies with a shallow intellect of a frightened depth of course, your presence makes it easier for me to talk it out the realm of your lack of judgment has the stamp of unconditional love