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Karma Tshelthrim Poem
Oh!What a wonderful being,
What a unique uninfluenced mind
Of that girl,
She wears humble dress
And talks low keeping the best head low.
Oh!How kind she Is?
To every one around her,
Albeit, they are good or bad,
Her rays of smile is unbiased like the sun rays.
Oh! What a decent gal,
She tells'I love you' many times
Yet to same single person
And unbelievable;one boyfriend Is enough to her.
Oh!How helpful she is in the society,
She walks to the Orphanage,
To donate penny In lieu of disposing To stretch wrinkles
To straighten naturally straight hair.
Oh!What a survival she made on this Anthill,
In this so called 21st century,
Where every gal wears dress scarcely and fanciful
In this burning world with a gushing fire of Ego and Imitation.
From where did that Angel fall?
Is she reincarnation of Mother Teresa?
No,It can't be...
Florence Nightingale will never visit back In this century.
Thanks.nchbkarma.blog spot.com
Copyright © Karma Tshelthrim | Year Posted 2015
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Karma Tshelthrim Poem
IT is on Sunday, on lonely day
A regret walks into my soul
Abode,my soul became to him
He grew and grasp my soul wholly.
My thought feeds him pretty well
"Her power of eyes had equaled to mine
Yet the time is too late,late to go back
When she is in the world of pair
She is good as dead to my life"
O.my beloved readers
I'm the one of dead man walking
On the Ghost's soil of loneliness
The memories were no more sweet.
He plays no music sweet and soft
Speaks no words of inspiration
Even pulls my balloon head down
And I see the thorny earth.
OH! it is unbearable
He invaded my soul
Like lasting version of solar eclipse
But the people concern solar-eclipse
Yet I also hear from her
"you are my best son
Let you be the successor
Of dreams you aspired
Of the aim you set up"
And held my giraffe head up
To see the Northern star sparkling
Never to let it down
To watch yellowish grass dancing
In the atmosphere of solitude.
Copyright © Karma Tshelthrim | Year Posted 2015
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Karma Tshelthrim Poem
Angel fell so near to me
Like a flower to the Bee,
At night It is mystery
Without line of her originative Story.
She worn hair silkily black,
Drives in craze when looking Back
When I sight to her eyes
I ain't want to tell her byes.
Like the eyes painted by god painter,
Not even seen ere in any Gal.
Her sounds;Musical and sweeter
Not even heard from spring Nightingale.
Angel fell so near to me,
Tell me what to do,Mommie.
For whom on this earth, she came?
That Idiot shall certainly get fame.
BY:karma tshelthrim
pursuing bachelor degree
In Applied arts,Lpu
Copyright © Karma Tshelthrim | Year Posted 2015
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