Prateek Agarwal

Prateek Agarwal, 18 march 2012

The Conspiracy Theories of a Psychotic

The Secret of Summer

What if Summer arrives,
When we let go of the Cardigans?
And so if we never stop wearing ‘em,
The Winters won’t leave.
May be if that short-fat man
Won’t set up his
Sugarcane Juice Stall,
The Winters won’t leave.
The summer is here because
I repaired my Water-Cooler,
If only I’d had let it rust
In the attic…

Blood against Sunshine!

Dressed-up in
My favorite Black Jacket
And Creamy Cashmere Scarf,
Why shouldn’t I slay
All the short-fat men
Who set up
Sugarcane Juice Stalls,
While my Water-Cooler stay
In the attic?
Why not?

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0/11 | detail |

Prateek Agarwal

Prateek Agarwal, 22 january 2012

The Withered Rose

I stand here
On this lonely road
Amidst the sands of snow,
No sense of time,
Fog rises ‘round
The Maple and the Oak,
Certain, you won’t
Be here today;
Certain of my fate,
Certain of my
Seared longing;
Withal I wait,

A bird takes flight
From a near-by tree,
Some stardust snow
It showers on me,
I shiver under
The dim sunshine,
The shiver stirs
My memories,

A petal falls

On the snow
From the withered rose
That I hold,
The sun gets warmer
The sun borrows
My memories,

The rose smells
Different today
Unlike it smelt all
These years,
When ‘t was
Fading away
In my copy of

A harder wind
Blows my way,
The fallen petal
Blows away,
May it find you
And your way,
Certain, you won’t
Be here today,

The withered rose
Heaves a sigh,
And I sigh for you,
I sigh too for
The withered rose
For it can’t find you,

I sleep peacefully
Every night, for
I e’er dream of you,
Certain, you won’t
Be here today,
And so let us
Keep the rose due,

And sure I am
A day would come
When my body turns a heap,
Will you see it then
That my epitaph says,
‘He’s not dead; but asleep’?

number of comments: 2 | rating: 0/13 | detail |

Prateek Agarwal

Prateek Agarwal, 26 december 2011


These deep silences,
Which interrupt
My busy life,
And my spirit, thus,
Then grasp my mind,

Aware I be then,
Beware I am,
Of myself,

The athanor-ic intellect
Feeds on
Bestowed intuitions,
And I feel
The holy oestrus,
When the truth
Shapes itself,
From within,
And leaps forward,
A spark from fire,

All become light,
And I become one with
The One True God.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0/9 | detail |

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