Abhishek Kumar Singh
Biography of Abhishek Kumar Singh
Abhishek Kumar Singh a.k.a. Poe'94 is best known for his mystical poetry & graphical illustrations also is looking ahead to develop his interests in Hip-hop/ Rap genre.
An aesthete who comes from middle-class family, born in a small city Satna, Madhya Pradesh. His father at the time manages the production department of Jaypee Cement, Sonbhadra, Uttar Pradesh & his mother is a house-maker. He completed his schooling from S.J.S. Public School, Rae Bareli which his hometown & now he is pursuing " Electrical Engineering" from Babu Banarasi Das University, Lucknow.
He was published in the years 2013: " POETSTUFFERS: AN ANTHOLOGY" & 2014: " AWAKENING" through a Facebook group, " POETSTUFFERS" at blurb.com in Canada. Sincere thanks to poetess, " KIMBERLYNNE DARBY NEWTON" , " MARSLEY HOLDERMAN" & the poet-cum-publisher, " BRIAN WRIXON" .
Abhishek Kumar Singh's Works:
Abhishek Kumar Singh Poems
I'M STILL THERE
Should I begin or not? Where should I begin? I began moments ago, I'm still there, at the first lines.
I'm wrapping-up a gift, I'm wrapping it up, slowly. With a pair of bare hands, slowly, I'm a few days late though.
ONE LAST TIME
Feels like I've just come, over here. With a new pen and a paper. I still know not, many of you.
I dream & I dream rare, but for hours i be there in It's all dark, in its own color,
dheere dheere jo ye hawa aai hai, is zameen mein ek sard lekar wo phool jo mene thaa chuna in haanthon mein, wo khoon sa beh raha hai mujhe dard dekar
#2 Newspaper Black-out Poetry: 'RUDE SH...
The recent fall has hit, after the past months fell by. Have fallen from close,
Where wild sedges with prickly bushes entangle; High over the eucalyptus woods the sun spangles— On the thick & thin branches—all their leaves dangle.
I'M & I'M
I'm unborn & banshee never sang for me. My songs have no music My voice has no sound
Awake & away, my long limbs walk; with the rising dust, in the darkest shadow of light. And O! the silence! Lip-less I talk thee,
The time swiveled the clocks, the clocks swiveled the time; for sake of another rhyme.
Time kept dawdling, many cradles were swung. And now it was me crying, strung by smiling souls,
O! my Lord, I know you see— & lately, O lately — I'm believed to be I grow through you & yes, I knew!
A MYSTERY POEM
I often wonder about, the first second & the last. Where are the answers? Of these unasked questions that I ask?
THE END OF HOLIDAYS (rewrite)
This holiday was long, longer than expected and now; it's about to end. I'd leave my house and it would leave me home sick, for a while.