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Best Poems Written by Prashna Shrestha

Below are the all-time best Prashna Shrestha poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Prashna Shrestha Poem

A playground of thoughts

Today, my mind is a playground of thoughts.
If one thought exhausts another,
maybe they would cease to exist—
but today, they multiply.
Today, my thoughts have become a burden.

In the chaos of my mind,
I search for new literature,
new words to anchor my restless soul.

I am a writer.
I don’t need food to nourish me,
nor shelter to shield me,
nor breath to survive.
All I need is a copy that never tires,
and a pen that dances on the page.

I am a writer.
I draw shapes from words,
pour ink like a river that never runs dry.
I write with curled fingers and a wet pen,
as if the very act of creation is my lifeblood.

When life feels colorless,
I splash color onto the canvas of each moment.
I walk with the weight of my thoughts,
each step an echo of the writer’s burden.

Today, my thoughts weigh heavy.
But in their pressure,
I continue to search for new literature,
for a voice that might quiet the storm.

Details | Prashna Shrestha Poem

Keep Me Away from the Mirror

I am not the figure in the glass,
Stiff and hollow, a shell of the past.
When its reflection catches my eye,
Hatred blooms, and I ask why.

Fear ignites, a flame in my chest,
My hand trembles, unable to rest.
When red spills from my skin,
I lift my head, yet cannot win.

Pieces of me are always gone,
The mirror mocks what I rely on.
Keep me away, I cannot bear
The shattered self that’s never there.

Each time I try to love this face,
The more it fills me with disgrace.
Keep me away, from what I can’t embrace,
A wilderness of mirrors, I’ve lost the race.

Details | Prashna Shrestha Poem

I am the silence that speaks

I cannot cry the tears
that rise when my heart breaks.
So I draw them as words.
Each letter,
a silent scream.
I am a mute soul,
my voice sealed in ink.
My pages speak for me.

I am the stillness
between breath and ache,
a quiet presence
that tides through pain—
not broken,
but breaking open.

I am a boat
adrift on a sacred river,
with a wound in my side—
still floating,
still treading water,
afraid,
yet held by unseen hands.

I am the blank page—
so white,
so still—
and every word I write
is the echo of my emptiness
becoming full.

I am not just this ache,
not just this ink.
I am the hush beneath the storm,
the spark that refuses to dim.
I am the silence that speaks.

Details | Prashna Shrestha Poem

We Shall Meet Again

We shall meet again—
Not in this fleeting world of form,
But beyond the bends of time,
Where all roads turn to dust,
And silence hums the final rhyme.

You wandered left, I drifted right,
Chasing echoes through the night.
Yet every path, no matter how wide,
Leads gently to the other side.

If your dusk arrives before mine,
Will you wait beneath the pine?
But should I reach that hush too soon,
Then let the waiting be your tune.

And then, you'll see—
My gaze was never for your face alone,
But for the soul that danced with mine,
The quiet ache, the sacred tone.

We shall meet, of that I’m sure,
Where pride is ash and hearts are pure.
No masks, no names, no borrowed grace—
Just soul to soul in boundless space.

They’ll weep, the ones I leave behind,
Some with sorrow, some resigned.
Yet I shall smile, through death’s disguise,
With hope still burning in my eyes.

For love like ours does not decay—
It simply slips into the grey.
And waits, and waits, until again—
Two kindred souls dissolve the pain.

So, wait for me or let me wait.
Beyond the veil, beyond the gate.
No matter where, no matter when—
Perhaps, we shall meet again.

Details | Prashna Shrestha Poem

Awake, Yet Not Alive

You're afraid of dying—
but tell me, are you truly alive?
You might say yes,
but haven’t you buried a thousand dreams?
Let them rot quietly in the corners of your heart,
until they become shadows that haunt you.

Haven’t you become
a living corpse,
breathing without purpose,
a flame once burning bright, now flickering?
You are not torn by a tiger’s claw,
but devoured by the tiger of your mind.

Are you lost in the forest of your thoughts?
Or have you locked yourself away,
trapped in the silence of your own fear—
too afraid to live?

Details | Prashna Shrestha Poem

Plagued by Memories

When the monsoon returns this year,
Will the tears fall again, as they did before?
Will sorrow once more breach the dam of my heart,
Spilling cold drops that mirror the rain?

With every breeze, your warmth brushes past—
Not real but remembered.
Today, once again, I turn the brittle pages of my diary,
Each line a wound still whispering your name.

No matter how much it rains,
My tears can’t reach her heart—
Slippery as the leaf of a gourd,
She slips from every grasp of memory.

This storm of pain has no forecast,
Yet it brings a strange, relentless satisfaction:
My diary, soaked in ink and ache,
Is the only proof that I am still alive.

I watched her fade—day by day,
A ghost becoming a goodbye—
And I could not stop her.

I am the stone that shattered
Trying to dam the river of time,
Scattered—here, there, everywhere—
Like stars too dim to guide,
Like clouds with no thunder.

I’ve become a riddle of broken parts,
So fragmented, it might be easier to gather the stars
Than piece myself back together.

She was a chapter in my book,
But without her, the story bleeds ink and silence.
And on the stage of this life,
I am a character fading into the backdrop,
Colored by memories I cannot forget.