Respirate everything smells like Art, Poetry, abstract.

Arbitrary Dandelions

Don’t be fashionable or stylish ,
Become timeless, become Art.
How you define yourself shouldn’t limit but set you free.
Ask yourself, ‘ Are you Suffering your Fashion OR wearing it ?’
My kinda fashion is free of heels but isn’t insecure of it.

My kinda fashion is like philosophy wrapped around my organs.
Have I found myself? No I have not !
I don’t know what’s so particular about what I write or read or wear or think,
actually this uncertainty is the only trampoline that keeps the art hopping.
I never followed any fashion icon
I don’t know what is trendy
I don’t care what others will think of what I wear, think, imbibe.
I am not that exclusive,
I don’t suffocate myself underneath the baggage of cool, sexy, or swaggy”
I just freely follow my heart
I connect more with the inclusivity of the Frame , the timelessness travelling inside pixels.

— Niharika Singh (Misha Thakur)



There are so many people breathing inside her,
She wants each one of them to touch life in their own way of perseverance,
She wants all of them to come out,
Dance with time as a partner in crime.
She pays the rent for being the cosmic joke of quantum uncertainties,
Her poetry is unheard most of time as her words are disguised like Higgs Bosons,
People who dare to entangle her, find themselves entwined!
She knows she can choose to forget all the roles,

can kill all the questioning dimensions within her,

Can easily deny not to transcend and exist on earth like others,

like nothing has ever happened, nothing


But she chooses not too and this will make her suffer,she knows!
she can’t be everyone so she chooses not to be anyone in particular,
she is over with the worldy certificates, awards and congratulations,
She can now anyday in her utter freedom and expression,
Walk somewhere in the abyss of unknown.
– Niharika Singh (Misha Thakur)


शब्द भी अब चल चल कर थक गये हैं और कदमो ने मंज़िल के माइने पूछना छोड़ दिया है
वो कविता जो मै लिखना चाहती हूं वो कभी पूरी नहीं हो सकती मान लिया,
क्यों कि,
समझ कि कोइ सीमा नहीं है और उस वजह से ये कहना कि किसके लेख, कला, काम, सोच, मे सब से ज़्यादा गहराई है बहुत मुश्किल है
और हम बराबरी के माइने भी क्या रखें? हम बराबरी करें ही क्यों ?
निराला ने भिक्षुक लिख तो दी और वो उनकी कालजयी रचनाओं मे से एक भी बनगई पर उस भिक्षुक के हालात आज भी वही है?
क्या शब्द सिर्फ ख़ुद पे खर्च करने के लिये बने है?
कुछ लोग खुदा पे भी कर देते है पर अगर किसी दिन खुदा सामने आजाये तो कैसे प्रभावित करेंगें सोच उन लोगों कि निशब्दता का अहसास होता है ख़ैर मैने तो कभी पूजा नहीं कि तो मेरे पास सब नये सवाल होगें पूछने को!
लिखने का काम बिना रूके चल रहा है इसमे लोग सोचते है कि क्या लिखे जो अलग हो, नया हो, क्रियेटिव हो, अविष्कारी हो, पर शब्द तो सोच से पैदा होतें हैं? और हमारी सोच तो ख़ुद एक उधार है जो समाज, स्कूल, हमारे आस पास जो घटित होता है उससे ही बनती है? आविशकार में भी हम इसी दुनिया कि चीज़ों को दूसरे अपरिचित लोगों से परिचित करा रहे होते है!
तो इंसान का अपना विचार आपना नज़रिया कहा है?
अगर कोई मापदंड ना हो तो सब कलाकार है सब शाइंनटिस्ट है सब बुद्धिजीवी है सही?
सही क्या है? कौन तय करेगा?
प्रेम? इसका आविष्कार किसने किया? हम सब ने? हा, तो हम आइंस्टीनी से कम कैसे?
कम? कम काम तो मेरे पापा ने भी नहीं किया, मेरी तरह सब छोड़ कर पहाड़ों पर जाने का मन उनका भी होगा, उनका भी मन होगा सिर्फ किताबे लिखने का, चित्र बनाने का, दुनिया को घंटों देखते रहने का और समझने का,
पर वो हमारे साथ रहे हमारे लिये कहीं नहीं भागे, तो क्या उनको कम क्रियेटिव बोल दें?
पता नहीं गौतम बुद्ध का बेटा उनसे जरा भी प्यार करता होगा कि नहीं, दुनिया करती है ये मै जानता हूँ, पर हमारे पिता जी ने हम लोगों को ही दुनिया मान लिया तो समझ जाओ महानता की भी कोई निर्धारित जीवनी नहीं,
कोइ किसी से कम नहीं है और मेरे शब्दों का आकार किसी से छोटे या बड़ा नहीं है ना ही मेरे जीवन का!
दुनियां को समझकर इसमे रहना किसी इनर कॉनफ्लिट से कम नहीं है!
ये पढकर आपको लगेगा कि मै किसी लूप मे फसी हूं
हा हो सकता है पर आप मुझे निकालने का प्रयास ना करे,
मुझे इसमे बहुत मज़ा आरहा है !
– नीहारिका सिंह (मिशा)

Here and there, everywhere.

You know,
life is raining all over the place,
Forget using umbrella all the time,
Just get wet,
wet in insanities,
sugarcoat yourself in calamities,
Borrow someone’s dancing shoes,
Or dance without the pairing boots,
Dip your soul into different bodies,
And just mockout the serious fools,
Lose the grip and relinquish the fear,
Smell more, taste words,
eat the metaphors in your morning prayer,
At last, you are nothing and who cares,
A drop of entropy in the universe we all share.
— Misha Thakur (Niharika Singh)

Obscure clarity 

You were never my escape routes, you are my subject roots.

Not much but whatever I accumulated beyond this body and education is Confusing. This Confusion consists of very enlighten sort of sublimity, awakenings, wisdom which is contemporary still in its childhood rebel not to grow up yet aging beautifully. So there is this thirst in me of knowing more, seeing more, feeling more; Being more.

Along with this, a very strong urge of shattering whole of me into extremely tiny particles holding all the gravity of my existential experience and Odyssey till now, so that everyone can inhale it effortlessly and if wish can exhale out or keep it if similar to oxygen as my molecules are shapeless vacuum wormholes.
Because you see the urge of sharing your spiritual experiences with the world is beyond any wish you could ever make, day by day you become silent, weird, opaque.

something which can’t be manifested.

Madness in you is very similar to happiness in which you burst out when someone can see you, see through you. Again because you know the core of damn fucking reality that not many will ever have the slightest idea of what you trying to give, paint, portray, how major, how rich? an illustration often Nature makes as a fruit to be eaten to its very flesh and bone, Unnoticed.

I want to share but I want to save the world from this madness as well. Still the adventure in me throws the adrenaline rush right on my fingertips and I write I write I write…!

– Niharika Singh (Misha Thakur)


I wish someday when I look up sun pours a lot of dew drops on my face,

I wish someday the leaves in the background sing to me the song of their bloom,

I wish someday my hairs grow Anti-Gravity and I can find those fringes I was never able to solve, 

I wish someday people come to me without asking anything and leave by knowing everything,

I wish someday the chaos in my head falls in love with the peace in my heart and lead my body towards Singularity.

– Niharika Singh (Misha) 

Self-Portrait Poetry 1 (series of Abstract poetry)

​The night leaps silently into the armor of darkness without an ugh! and got stuck at mid thirteen in the clock for rest of the day. 

Then slowly open eyes to high headed sun, the armor abandoned, the darkness gone far long, the vividness of absurdity never evoked this intense and the clock got numb, 

-numb forever since then!

Don’t judge me! 

And there are days when I choose to be naive,

And there are days I choose not to open up with many or any,

And there are days I need no cushions to absorb my tears, blurred vision, smudged Kajal, swollen eyes it’s ok.

Then there are days when I choose to be melancholy, Melancholy leads me to obscure, obscure leads me to questions, questions  to redemption , redemption to solace , and solace back to melancholy. Melancholy is always a medicine to mind.

Then there are days when I fall in love,
Almost with everything, lost and and found , here and there. Just!

Days when I can be romantic about anything,

wrinkles , crinkles , opaque clarity, clearly dubious ,  extremes,  misfits , worn out sweaters and empty lipsticks,  chirped lips and crooked teeth,  smiles so wild and tears so sour.

There are days when I am less of woman and more of human and less of skin but more of bones,  

And there are days when I mother without a child,  a husband without a wife, a book all blank, angry without a slang.

Sometimes I believe in quantum so much so that become one,  you can’t ever predict my position as I am not just in duality,  I am in multitudes,  a multiplying multiverse, an atom in search of neutron, catastrophe of sublime thoughts.

Sometimes the only way to me is through words.   

And there are 365 days in an year and 365 me living each hour differently so don’t judge me for one day we met or exchanged our tounges . 

Gigantic Mystics 

Gigantic mystics (Nainitaal Travelogue)

Mountains were way more intimating than I ever thought they would be. Wanderlust is something defined best by getting lost into woods. Holding on your breath while paving through rollercoaster of molded rocks is the rhythm between peace and patience. Vastness of sky running parallel to its shadow in the lake was what majesty one can’t miss while traveling Nainital. 

When i step out after nine hours of my train journey completely exhausted and starving for sleep believe me just one view of those magnanimous mountains right in front of your eyes startled my vision with glee and all my journey seems worthy just by believing the collision of my vision with the mountains. Still it wasn’t Nainital, it was 44km before a station called Khatgodam  equally effected by the aura of gigantic upfront ahead.

Slowly and steady the roads started rising up, clouds were still far but I was already on seventh one. One road curve leading to another as if the way to Nainital is no less than the way from a woman’s body to her soul. It was immensely consuming.The extraordinary ride comes to an end and here I was in the womb of mountains, Nainital.

You know what I used to think about all glittery shades of being in mountains and close to sky but trust me it’s more of an expirence. Mountain sickness is something you have to pay both while going and returning though with no regrets I can absorb it all over again. 

Something about the people who live in mountains or areas of higher altitudes, hats off man! It’s all not fascinating and adventurous for people who resides there permanently. The roads were literally inclined upwards. Again you will realise this when you have to struggle for each taken step there. 

The Naini lake is one of the most clear water sky I could ever imagine. the tought even excites me more that how such large threshold of water frequencies are floating above mean sea level right between the lap of mountains! 

For time I was there I let myself lose and submitted to the surroundings.I let the wind to touch my scared places.I allowed the sun to welcome me.I heard  the music of water and scream or shrill mountains during the night.I let everything reply me personally.

Trekking is like good food not everyone could have it. It requires more of passion than stamina. It requires more of zest than wish. I realise this each moment, the feeling of being fearless from getting lost is the best feeling. When you adopt a place every lane leads you home and that’s how people live here permanently. Enormous trees holding more personalty than mine makes me feel nothing, and nothingness heals better than fame.  

I was a proud unknown leading a journey with no real maps.   

If you are going there for a week or two you would choose not to sleep no matter how much pale you get because the mountains shine like dandelions seeds even in the darkest nights. They will urge you to sit by them,  Beside the lake, watching the unimaginable image of star studded mountains. You just can’t control nature walking with you each step closer than earlier.

While going back it’s not just you who wave goodbye but the place too. Me and my travel exchanged few parts of our journey with the destination.There are countless number of nostalgia, series of personal events, endless viewpoints to cover up but few feelings can’t ever be translated because they meant to be felt.For a shock of mine while returning back to my home town I felt more close more obliged to the place i belong, Lucknow.The place I was leaving was no way less but still home coming holds the special smell of hunger only your bed your blanket your sunrise can fulfil. 

Who said the same sun rises everywhere no, it doesn’t. Everyday every Sun is different, every Moonset holds a story knitting around the dusk. The last Sunset of this travel sang a lullaby very close to my cosmic strings. 

Concluding this inconclusive I would say the wanderers are the people who live in oblivion and philosophy, they are nomads they belong to noone, no place and I am one of them.  Still i claim myself as a local gypsy. The more places I’ll  discover across the world the more indwell I’ll be with my home.

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