Hope, Resurrected

The signs of passion are poker faced.

I spend my nights in deathly ardor

Digging deep into the muffled dreams

That cry for forgiveness..

I take a puff of the cigar,

And pant quietly, with tears in my eyes

The sullen kisses and the fake good-byes…



The roses dried with my breath,

I fancied love, but God forbade:

The smiles that played hide-and-seek,

Bore my frowns away..

From every stranger who touched my hand,

Promised the plight to neverland;

I mocked my pain and lived to die

In the arms of pity..



The sounds of passion were tricked to silence.

I spend my hours in muted rhythms

Searching more for the truth that lied..

And warned to conquer forgiveness

I take a sip from the liquor’s trench

And let myself go astray

Wished I had died that day..



The violins cry with my voice

I seek to change the devil’s choice

The tears that stoked my conscience 

Have found its place in mystery dens

They wander to deliver the day’s omens

I mocked my pain and lived to die

In the arms of serenity






~~Thank You for the reviews and comments~~
Copyright © | Year Posted 2010

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Mehta Avatar
September 29, 2010 at 1:31 PM
Roses dried with my breath nice expression, very deep meaningful write, Iman
Brown Avatar
September 29, 2010 at 12:22 PM
I am happy to be able to sit and read all the diverse poems here at PoetrySoup today. I am glad your poetry was among the ones I am reading today Iman. Love, Carol
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