A Poet In Me Is Dying
I don't remember, when this poet in me was born
What I remember is his softening of heart,
Growing on the head and hunger to write.
With so much pain around
This world has suffocated
The thoughts that freely lingered.
These flying thoughts roaming in the freedom of the air
returned from the painful journey
by being severely hurt with pains floating around.
The poet in me has seen the nature's beauty
With admiration and jubilation
And wandered from dawn to dusk
It travelled on the flight of the air
By flapping the wings of happiness
Spreading the message of peace
And collected the blessing of the Almighty
Spread all across the path to the wisdom
Today, Alas, In polluted air with hatred floating around
the despair wings struggle to flap
and find its way to pureness of wisdom
It travels on a never ending painful path
It sees the sea of suffering heads
Hung before the shameless devils
Sucking the blood from innocent veins
Fulfilling their thirst of greed
And enjoying the cry around.
The poet in me is crawling
In its knee, wounded and broken
Truly is shaken by the war and the cry
Of hapless souls carrying the rotten body
They walk to meet my writing desires
And narrate their painful story
Which my mind imagines not
Nor my skills approve to jot down
I let my silent body, to take over
The whirling mind with bubbling thoughts
And embrace them under its armpit
And sing a lullaby to make them sleep forever.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
