Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Tags
#firstpoems
The forests are deep, dark and menacing. Distance from the plains are ever-increasing. A desert of bright sand-dunes Seeps through waterless moons And shines a lantern on The hunter’s myriad faces. Her delicate self, ambushed behind the glorious paw, Shivers and amazes, At the ruthlessness of their trances. Maudlin over her abandoned demeanor, The departed herd and their mesmerizing candor, Shoving away her characteristic mirth and laughter, She voluntarily slips into The hectoring trap. A predator in waiting, For the hunter’s slow clap. But, Man the hunter, must have forgotten, That a tiger remains a tiger Despite being overwhelmed, or woe-begotten. And as he nears the trap he built, To grind her might and get her killed, He sees, The sedentary beast transmuted Into a monstrous manifestation that lay undefeated. Tearing their flesh, Destroying their jejune laughter. With an attack far cathartic For them to resurrect after. Remember, the sun, the woods, the stark sea? Her spirit embodies theirs, It is she. The sweltering sun, the rapturous desert, Vanquish the chains that had imprisoned Her abounding heart. Expunging the landscape of infiltrating dirt, The tiger reigns supreme, Glorified in hurt.
0
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 9:44 AM UTC
arpita-banerjee
The Tiger's Return
The forests are deep, dark and menacing. Distance from the plains are ever-increasing. A desert of bright sand-dunes Seeps through waterless moons And shines a lantern on The hunter’s myriad faces. Her delicate self, ambushed behind the glorious paw, Shivers and amazes, At the ruthlessness of their trances. Maudlin over her abandoned demeanor, The departed herd and their mesmerizing candor, Shoving away her characteristic mirth and laughter, She voluntarily slips into The hectoring trap. A predator in waiting, For the hunter’s slow clap. But, Man the hunter, must have forgotten, That a tiger remains a tiger Despite being overwhelmed, or woe-begotten. And as he nears the trap he built, To grind her might and get her killed, He sees, The sedentary beast transmuted Into a monstrous manifestation that lay undefeated. Tearing their flesh, Destroying their jejune laughter. With an attack far cathartic For them to resurrect after. Remember, the sun, the woods, the stark sea? Her spirit embodies theirs, It is she. The sweltering sun, the rapturous desert, Vanquish the chains that had imprisoned Her abounding heart. Expunging the landscape of infiltrating dirt, The tiger reigns supreme, Glorified in hurt.
Continue reading...
38
I am in love With the flurry of sunlight that peeks Through my half closed door. I am in love With the scanty breath that escapes The rise and ebb of my body. I am in love With the sullen poetess inside Longing for a joyride Beyond the borders of the outside. You, me, one lonely dog, a shadowy tree and all my love, Your vulnerable eyes, shy of the distance. While the sun and the moon Keeping playing with your surrealist hair, I swing enraptured Lost in the glorious mess That escapes your mind, Onto the virtual alphabets of the illuminated screen. You write for me, about me and In between your blurts and sudden spurts, You steal my scanty breath away. And all my passions sing That it is time for me now, To be a muse, For another’s poetry. I am not reduced, my artistry intact, Like the giants which breathed and befell. Millions of years ago, They married the earth in a swell. Now, their auburn heat, Warms you and me. I think it is time That you perhaps knew All my words Have finally summoned you.
0
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 12:51 AM UTC
arpita-banerjee
All my words
I am in love With the flurry of sunlight that peeks Through my half closed door. I am in love With the scanty breath that escapes The rise and ebb of my body. I am in love With the sullen poetess inside Longing for a joyride Beyond the borders of the outside. You, me, one lonely dog, a shadowy tree and all my love, Your vulnerable eyes, shy of the distance. While the sun and the moon Keeping playing with your surrealist hair, I swing enraptured Lost in the glorious mess That escapes your mind, Onto the virtual alphabets of the illuminated screen. You write for me, about me and In between your blurts and sudden spurts, You steal my scanty breath away. And all my passions sing That it is time for me now, To be a muse, For another’s poetry. I am not reduced, my artistry intact, Like the giants which breathed and befell. Millions of years ago, They married the earth in a swell. Now, their auburn heat, Warms you and me. I think it is time That you perhaps knew All my words Have finally summoned you.
Continue reading...
35