They all
Dance
Sing
And make noise
Being irritated
You catch and scold only
Loneliness.
Similar Posts
frequently we take
no matter if we are trained or notthat wayyou are a singer tooyou begin singingbut the tune is not sweetyou change the themeand turn to saddest onespeople applaudbut they don’t knowyou break and bleeddeep insidethen you realizeyou don’t take singingto be saddelight is your ultimate goalyou hesitatebut continue singingyou are close to the endingof the…
The soil on which I live
It must be flat and plain,the fruit I eat lacked much milk,the water I drink must be stillthe erudite bird explained,if not so ‘ why can not the birdsof your forest sing like the birdsof mine? ‘are all the waves of youare higher than the wavescreated in my river? if not so,then, no wrongs on…
Whether it is by the terrorist act
Death is always a deathNo, life has another meaningOne for you and the other for meNo, it is not so simpleLike the lines, black and white of a bookNor it is, one for the poor and other for the richNo, it is not so easyLike the lines of your handsIt is hidden behind the wordsAmong…
I do not stretch
when I sayPoets are greatYet in poetryWhen i tell youEmbellishingSeparation hurtsAnd indifference gives me painYou pass them offBelievingI am in poeticImagination
This world is neither a stage
Nor is it a hill that echoesWhat its citizens do or didThis world is a wired instrumentSit upon it tightAnd play your fingers to get sweet tune.Sometimes in another wayIn another aspect it appearsJust to me and I think it is not wrongThis world is a peculiar inflated balloonHang on it or hold it fastAnd…
Find the correct sound
It is everywhereIt is in the womb of the universeSing it full throat, right on, this is how it is doneOnly the unfortunate have doubts.It hovers all aroundLet the sound be felt in your heartIt is open secretThe universe is inside youThe universe waits youOnly the blind and deaf can not see or hear the…
They follow you all over
You want to leave behind,
But the painful ones,
Stay over,
And no matter,
How hard you try,
There are thing of which,
You’ll never be getting over.
Similar Posts
Poetry opens doors to the traveling Wind,
Thoughts that have been spun within,Like the dancing leaves of an Autumn day.
Words can be used
In a most positive way,Spreading teachingsThat set us apart,From crueltyAnd all inhuman sway.It is our Duty,To convince and guide for good,Making sure we’re banning Evil,And that Good is fully understoodPoetry, a way so tenderTo spread the Conquering WordTo friends and to contenders,Creating human splendor,The way we really should.
What would we be without each other?
How would we share, without each other?Poets, ArtistsCreators, Brothers.
What is, is what’s not,
And what will be,Cares not about the Present,So in what Time Zone,Shall we move?Past, Present or Future,You always lose.
When Corruption is so deep that
There is no hope left,It’s only a matter of time till,Total decay and crumbling happens,Becoming the fatal destinyOf every dissolute and perverted nation,That has planted and grown the seedsOf its own devastation.
‘My desire is
Noble desire, sentimentAnd that, you willYou have the talentThe know how,The feeling andAnd the good will,Talent like yoursIs not taughtOr boughtIt’s born within,So don’t worryThat perfect oneIs on the wayAnd you’ll feelAnd know it,When it will say,‘Don’t do anythingElse,Just, write me, today’
Leave a Reply Cancel reply
Inter glide,
Poems ready
To be tried
Wait a minute,
Not so fast
Sharpen pencils
Very well,
If you fake it
It won’t sell
Similar Posts
We will sail across the sea,
In a ship full of sweet words,That no one has ever heard,All those words belong to me,But I’ll share them, you will see,For in the poetic world,All is possible, I’ve heard.All my words will be your crown,With my love, your life surround,For forever in their sound,Music flows towards ecstasy,Love projects its fantasy,How much better can…
We all have,
In us.For some it staysIn others,It becomes much thinner,But in the end,Like it or not,We are all,Poetic Sinners.
Democats, Debacle,
Laundry Machines,Needed Urgently!Were desperately,Called in to help.But you can’t clean upA Sewer,If your not a rightfulDoer,And your pullingAll the mud upFrom your left.
As long as there is Love,
They are so unbelievably,IntertwinedFor the best thing they both knowIs how to give, and give, and give.
We travel, we feel
Poetry is a ShipAll the way,From the minuteTo the extreme.
What doesn’t a Rose touch?
It looks to the Sky for the truth,It perfumes the whole World with its scent,And to Love and Beauty, its image is lent.
Leave a Reply Cancel reply
In Poetry they find
They’re very flow
Like the rivers,
To the Sea must go
So poetry is written
Free,
And knows, it must
Speak independently,
To the heart
But come directly
From the soul,
That shines with
Inner Love,
For all that lives
And all above,
In undiscovered skies
That give the Universe
Such a mysterious splendor,
As hearts and minds
Travel together
In search of
Total Harmony,
Forever.
Similar Posts
There is nothing
That makes me feel more alive,Than a poem to adore,It impregnates all of my beingWith supernatural sensations of healing.
It’s not the same without you,
The Sky has lost its brightest Stars,Someone turned off the Moon.It’s not the same without you,Time has just gone away,Present, Past and Future,Are just one silent day.It’s not same without you,The living thrill is gone,I look for you, what can I do?Knowing, I’ve lost the Sun.
The things we feel,
Sometimes may cause,Utter dismayBut do we ever learn the songHow to correct?So much that’s wrong.
When another person’s Light,
Just rejoice and keep it close,Happiness, without remorse!
How easy it is, tricking others,
But take pity on those who tryTo prove those lies are not true!Or try to stop their ascension to power.Scaling up, upon the walls of time,Sadly, the inevitable ivy climbsAnd so do non truths,Invested in promoting scandal’s delugeBenefiting those who seek Power,To put it to bad use,And commit all sorts of atrocities,From their political Tower.
Love, resurrection for the soul,
A hand held with grace,Can and says it All.
Leave a Reply Cancel reply
Go into Poetry,
So few are happy moments,
The rest are painful memories
That cut you like a knife,
So, can reading, writing poetry
Really help you stay alive?
Similar Posts
We loved each other
Left!Except, the regretOf never having met!
Love to love the light of day,
You’re the one, what more to say?Bless, the day you came my way.
Love,
You can think of.No one can explain,It’s colored rainbow,At the end of the rain.
Around madness
Is it sadnessIn reality,That pushOur many themes?Looking,For the impossibleDoesn’t even pay,Even if dreamWe may,Because lifeJust doesn’tWork that way.
They line their pockets
Into politics,Not for youBut for its mightPower taken,Lies, not fightsFor all our rights,Beware of thoseBearing free gifts,Lost in deep pockets,And called Gyps.You’re just the foolsThat gave them keysTo take you over,‘Legally’.
Poetry plays with Time
Extraordinary,In its kindness,Embracing All,With poetic blindness,Loving All,Regardless,Of creed, race or religion,Poetry, always,Universal Vision.
Leave a Reply Cancel reply
Ever in motion, never at rest
The sneaking invaders of the quiet
HEIGHTENED PERCEPTION
An ocean in a drop of water
The Cosmos in a speck of dust
A divine spark in every being
Similar Posts
In this beautiful month of May
Watch the sun after his sleep at nightComing out slowly, dazzling brightAs I see those birds in the airHow I long for a sky so fairLet us go up on a swingAs we don’t have a pair of wingDo not waver and waste this dayNobody always gets his wayLet us go to the heavens highAnd…
The thoughts of death stubbornly cling to me
Sending chills up through every neuronI hear their empty rattle in my headAs rabid dogs barking at nothingThough Shelley was full of praiseAnd hailed Death and Sleep as brothersTo me it is not so and will never beNot that I am afraid to dieNor think my absence will shake the Earth out of its orbitBut…
When ‘I’ die,
And singular becomes pluralBut when ‘plural’ becomes ‘singular’Love is born.Oh! What paradox!
Now that you are old and spent
Before stepping outLest somebody may shoutSir, please! Your pant’s buttons, attend!
There was a boy who loved custard
Though it tasted awfulAnd the boy felt doleful‘Yummy’! He said with a smile plastered!
There is music slumbering in me
All that comes out is dead silenceAs one with a stone for a tongueMy songs are stuck in my throatAnd I choke for breath, for airAs if a noose has been held tightAround my neck, making me gaspHow I wish to sing my songsLike the merry birds on tree topsThat burst out in eloquenceIn the…