Death unescorted by feet or form,
Difficult to trace bare bone footprint;
Discern its image in the mirror of vitality,
Its spirit draws breath in the body of life;
Death is interior of the slushy flesh,
Trial-mount on the funeral pyre;
Feel the body fabric burning;
You’re not descending into the Earth
But rising towards the eternal Sky,
And entering into a pristine nativity,
As the Sun sets, the Moon rises.
——
Mishra is an outsider artist, an International freelance writer, and a lecturer in English. He has edited a collection of poems by various poets — Pearls (2002) — and written a professional guide book — How To Be (2016) — and a collection of poems and art — Feel My Heart (2016).
Recently his work has been published in the New England Review, Classical Poets, Permafrost Journal, Human Touch Journal, Blue Mountain Review, International Times, Literary Yard, Mud Season Review, Verbal Art, Stone Coast Review, Indiana Voice Journal, Ripen the Page, Poetry Nook, Forever Journal, Foliate Oak Literary Magazine, Priestess and Hierophant, Red Fez, Literary Orphan, Chiron Review, Poetry Leaves, etc.
Visit his website and his blog.