Walking On Shadows
I am so young,
For the song I sung.
I am so old,
For my jewels of gold.
A poet is a peppermint of ideas,
And a serpent of mistakes.
They release poems as poison.
And success in every session.
They show they are brilliant.
And there thoughts are very resilient.
When they lose their clarity,
They will get close to confusion.
If they sacrifice any sentence,
It means that they are on the spiky road of failure.
Every line travel’s as a bullet,
Into a poetry wallet.
Midnight misery is not a moonwalk.
But a dream of a spiritual sleep ways to a marathon run.
The talent of tears,
Can be shown when it is thirsty.
Walking on the shadows,
Is lamenting on the shade of windows.
Crying in the taros,
Is rebelling with zeros.
The death day of stage fear,
Turns as the birthday of success.
Smell of hibiscus,
Is like a day with success.
Cyclone doesn’t occur in a swimming pool.
But a heart sizzling sentence occurs rarely in BSK’s poems.
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