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Renaldo Singh Poem
From the night I was born on a still midnight hour
I had to face many a trial
to cope with life's challenges.
Some called it baptism by fire,
others said it was only natural to keep a tough exterior.
So I learned,
I learned how to be patient,
endure the hard times
address my anger, fight my hatred,
to shed silent tears of virtue.
I learned about laughter,
of its healing power, soothing to the soul.
I learned to be silly,
to laugh at my troubles.
Knowing eventually, they always meet their expiration date.
I learned troubles give depth to life.
Time converts them from tragedy to comedy.
I learned life is tough, leaves your broken
heavy on the shoulders, leaves you drowning.
But, I've learned that as the water get deep, life throws you a line
Those silent tears form crystals from your eyes.
It makes you powerful.
All this I learned a long time ago.
To treasure the time,
until that cold bitter truth comes upon.
Poor mortal! Never knowing the day or hour
the shadow of death comes with his cold disposition.
So I've learned to embrace death.
I've learned to smile the biggest smiles.
I've learned to shed to most honest tears.
I learned how to do this,
all of it.
I learned it all,
a long time ago.
Copyright © Renaldo Singh | Year Posted 2015
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Details |
Renaldo Singh Poem
I remember a lass
with a countenance I've never met before.
She was of no celestial citizenship,
nor were her features immortal.
But rather she possessed a pair of eyes
that were black and piercing.
There was no sparkle in them,
but they glistened with honesty.
Her hair was neither straight nor lustrous,
but thick and rich with waves
like an angry ocean, billowing down her face.
Its colour was not that of the sun, nor as scarlet as the sunset.
Her hue was the colour of the earth,
untainted as her coarse midnight hair rode the wind.
And as she walked, the heavens noticed,
for she didn't possess any expected charms,
but her integrity gave her the aura of a goddess.
And when she smiled, she sought not to seduce,
but nevertheless, she captured hearts
and treated them with care.
For she cared for those she loved.
She cared to those she despised,
but as for herself, she cared to be alive
and nothing more.
This mortal, many would claim as ordinary.
She wasn't a fairy or an intellectual.
She wasn't an angel, but she belonged to the earth.
She possessed no wings or powers.
Her magic came from her character.
Wit and affection were her instruments.
She wasn't imaginary, she was natural.
She was human.
She was a woman.
She was beautiful.
Copyright © Renaldo Singh | Year Posted 2015
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Details |
Renaldo Singh Poem
The poem is an interesting tool
which I acquainted with in school.
I love its structure, its harmonious flow,
even when its rhythm is fast or slow.
It shapes my reality, causes words to dance,
details matters of perplexity, issues of romance
It soothes and inspires whatever I feel
allowing emotions to endure, to become real.
A poem can tell a story
of despair, hurt or even glory.
It reaches deep and tugs the heart
with messages that heal or tear it apart.
To be a poet is to be a master of words.
Shape them into music, let them fly like birds.
To know they will be singing after you’ve gone
preserving your memory, never losing their tone.
Copyright © Renaldo Singh | Year Posted 2015
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