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All posts by Prashant Singh

umbrella image for invalid poetry by scottshak

Invalid

Everything we were,Everything we are,And who we become,Isn’t our hand to play.What is so terribly wrongWith us being who we are?Why do we try to becomeSomeone we are not?We are the same species,We are the same rock,What’s there to be ashamed of our gifts?It must

Ansh short horror film poster

Ansh – A Short Horror Film

This one is a perfect paragon of an impromptu creation. I was at my friend’s house when his sister walked in with a small broken toy of a baby. She swayed it in front of us humming an eerie music, when I realized, “Hey we

mermaid painting

Mermaid

I am on a boat with no oars, at the mercy of the flow. It is a surefire fall ahead as a steep and deadly fall awaits my death. I know my fate and have come to accept it. Death has never scared me anyway.

trust moving in poem by scottshak

Moving In

You wouldn’t know, Would you? You don’t ever read me, Do you? And then talk about How you understand me The way no one does, But she would read me Like what’s going on, And then she would know What’s going in My heart and

lips are sealed mute poetry by scottshak

Mute

What’s wrong if I spill myself out? I die tomorrow, don’t you know? Maybe you have all the time in the world, Maybe I am running out, And you have no idea how, But each passing breath is a goodbye From this cold world. And

fighting art

Fortune

Two men were fighting, So I put a ring around them, And bet on them As people paid To see who would win – I made a fortune.

Ben Zank photography for Scottshak poem no crossing

No Crossing

You have your life, I have mine, Why mess things up? Let us be Where we are. We are seamless now, We might seem less then, When we tie our threads, And end up in a knot. When hearts collide, No one survives, Don’t you

i am a monster poem

Monster

You aren’t so close to me That I start whispering secrets In your ears, These secrets are afraid of distance, And if you were near I would be talking to your eyes More than to your ears, I might slip them down your lips, And

the faceless art for scottshak's poem the false protagonist

The False Protagonist

Maybe I read too much In my wilted time, And crumble when I don’t find You, in my pages. Red eyes scour you, Like you were written In there somewhere By my favourite¬†author. Your mere mention Thrills me so, That every face Is the one

image for my player poem by scottshak

My Player

You take out the best in me Then play with it for hours, Fumble me in your fingertips, Poke me with your fun, Hold me so tight That I fear not slipping, But being toyed with For too long. I am written in dust, But