Mohit Keswani

Piece of Myself 

I’m just silver graft of silence in my own self
Living inside a probe of incense sharpness and burning,
I travel on the pinions of dreams that rise on the ice shelf,
Inside the aggression, passion, and spirit of learning
I’m not from this world of dupes and feeling
Not accepting amends, vanquishing any sort of loose tongue
Right as rain, no need for external silent healing
And partly from one of the tranquil songs assuredly unsung
To the guide of night’s unearthly treasures
With fierce and intense beauty of love,
I am just a murk with all burning pleasures,
Playing through the nights with the cricket glove.
So, if you think you’re listening to my mind,
Think twice, because it might be specially designed

 

Will Make Loss Lose – a rant

I feel revulsion towards losing more than you will ever sense
A loss,
An absolute inept and corrupt base totally black-hearted.
Purely like chickenshit.

It will unfailingly linger with me,
And will deface the memory and the subconscious
To the core it will keep unsettling the grey matter

It is a loss,
It will stick forever
It’s a grievous feeling
I hate it. I HATE IT. I HATE IT.

The perception, unable to the lies impending from truth,
Knowing, leg pulling and humiliation to come around the corner makes it decayed
Lost in my own thoughts, wandering around
Lost confidence in an honorable mentor

Under the feeling of ignorance,
Getting close to people I know are just going to hurt me,
Can’t get through the pain of knowing it wasn’t my imperfection.
Incapable of clutching positives out of the squandering
I suffer.

There is no way out of it
If you get it you are in it, you are in it; you’ll be in pain
Nothing helps or nothing solves,
The only thought comes is to win the next one.

The loss, tantamount to a war,
Where you go in the rage mode,
Complete empty-headed bit and pieces and suffer the consequences.

Forget it, coz I hate it.

The only positive,
It’s not going to happen next time
I declare with guarantee.

 

The Art of Winning

The art of winning isn’t austere to master
Revolving around passion, commitment and intent
But with a spirited view, loss is no disaster

Just uniquely contribute, and overlook the fluster
With hard work, the hours courteously spent
The art of winning isn’t austere to master

Wanting to win, you will win faster
But even if defeated, nothing should lack to invent
But again with a spirited view, loss is no disaster

Keep winning as a habit, then it will come vaster,
All for that needed is hell-bent
The art of winning isn’t austere to master

Need talent to win, need character to repeat and a pure battler
It is everything if other side being lament.
But with a spirited view, loss in no disaster

The clever one would be calm and smiling, becoming a headmaster
Running around to show the intense talent,
The art of winning isn’t austere to master
But with a spirited view, loss is no disaster

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