mydesirelines - Hello Poetry

that innocent boy got scratched, fooling around an old rusty knife that careless man punctured his heart, toying a young bud with wild thorn and me, what a shame! got badly wounded, by the delicate petals of prettiest flower in the town.

0

Jan 17, 2021

Jan 17, 2021 at 9:23 AM UTC

hurt in love

that innocent boy got scratched, fooling around an old rusty knife that careless man punctured his heart, toying a young bud with wild thorn and me, what a shame! got badly wounded, by the delicate petals of prettiest flower in the town.

10

for days you trail through the depths of the forest and as you step out on the other side, finally off its shadow you feel an unknown urge, to turn back, for a one last look. and in that very moment, for the first time you feel the whole forest, with its all might, vastness and mystery rushing through you, filling your heart with senses never known and it only stops, when it finds it's way, through your tear drops. you know, after the last line looking back at a poem, does with me the same.

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Oct 23, 2020

Oct 23, 2020 at 1:18 PM UTC

last line

for days you trail through the depths of the forest and as you step out on the other side, finally off its shadow you feel an unknown urge, to turn back, for a one last look. and in that very moment, for the first time you feel the whole forest, with its all might, vastness and mystery rushing through you, filling your heart with senses never known and it only stops, when it finds it's way, through your tear drops. you know, after the last line looking back at a poem, does with me the same.

10

my restraint, may seem like an impregnable enemy line but when your love blooms and wind sniffs the wound of your heart, let the fragrance sneak in and cut me like an elvish sword.

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Oct 22, 2020

Oct 22, 2020 at 11:27 AM UTC

venus

my restraint, may seem like an impregnable enemy line but when your love blooms and wind sniffs the wound of your heart, let the fragrance sneak in and cut me like an elvish sword.

3

after a while, the door sensed that it's left to itself now to figure out whether to remain open or be closed. this sudden realization, made it very uncomfortable. from the moment she walked out of that door, everyone in the house, had the same strange feeling.

0

Oct 21, 2020

Oct 21, 2020 at 7:39 AM UTC

she

after a while, the door sensed that it's left to itself now to figure out whether to remain open or be closed. this sudden realization, made it very uncomfortable. from the moment she walked out of that door, everyone in the house, had the same strange feeling.

7

let’s get ready dear, it’s your first day at school and you don’t want to be late? do you? this was when, I lost my childhood as I accidentally acquired sense of time.

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Oct 12, 2020

Oct 12, 2020 at 10:07 AM UTC

childhood

let’s get ready dear, it’s your first day at school and you don’t want to be late? do you? this was when, I lost my childhood as I accidentally acquired sense of time.

5

on some benches, people never sat on some there was always someone. on some branches, birds never rested on some there was always a one. don’t worry my boy, life is not a bench or a branch but a park and a tree.

0

Oct 11, 2020

Oct 11, 2020 at 7:09 AM UTC

beyond odds

on some benches, people never sat on some there was always someone. on some branches, birds never rested on some there was always a one. don’t worry my boy, life is not a bench or a branch but a park and a tree.

7

We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory.

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Oct 11, 2020

Oct 11, 2020 at 12:04 AM UTC

poem by Louise Gluck

We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory.

2

though he looked calm he was worried all the way as his sons carried him on their broad shoulders. the dead brahmin, finally smiled as he was laid on the funeral pyre made of finest sandalwood from the forest around. that was his last wish to his sons, you must use chandan and nothing else. don’t give me to some low-cast corkwood even before sum of my deeds is calculated, i know, on the pyre, it will burn me, to the hell.

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Oct 10, 2020

Oct 10, 2020 at 5:39 AM UTC

last wish

though he looked calm he was worried all the way as his sons carried him on their broad shoulders. the dead brahmin, finally smiled as he was laid on the funeral pyre made of finest sandalwood from the forest around. that was his last wish to his sons, you must use chandan and nothing else. don’t give me to some low-cast corkwood even before sum of my deeds is calculated, i know, on the pyre, it will burn me, to the hell.

13

a man in the crowd is a page in the book one of the many in a stack a man standing alone, is a lost page, of poetry.

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Oct 9, 2020

Oct 9, 2020 at 9:26 AM UTC

mystic

a man in the crowd is a page in the book one of the many in a stack a man standing alone, is a lost page, of poetry.

8

if the Sun is scaled down to a dot on the paper . like the one above then the nearest star will be a dot four miles apart. space is this endless poetry by the universe, where it writes two words just too far apart.

0

Oct 7, 2020

Oct 7, 2020 at 9:22 AM UTC

space

if the Sun is scaled down to a dot on the paper . like the one above then the nearest star will be a dot four miles apart. space is this endless poetry by the universe, where it writes two words just too far apart.

11