This is not a poetry;
Not the one that you are familiar with.
This is a sigh; The wail of my heart;
The one that you refuse to envisage
And here I live; Out in cold, homeless
Homeless, since your heart was my home;
In which, now resides your arrogance and vanity
If only you could see through and perceive,
And could discern the difference.
This is not a poetry
Not the one that you are familiar with.
This is a different sky; The sky of my visions;
I recurrently go on excursions across it
And spread the wings of my dreams so wide;
That they could just bolt away and glide high,
Outrageously high; Along I fly with them too;
Befitting into the cocoon,
Obliterating every possibility of defeat.
This is not a poetry
This is a different season; The season of my desires
Could there be another winter so cold;
And I could lie torpid sans obligations
Could there be another summer so hot;
I could walk barefoot destitute of getting burns
Could there be autumn so beguiling and vivid;
All I could want is to be surrounded with peace,
Vibrance, Tranquility and Quietude.
This is not a poetry
This is just a piece of my heart;
Of all the likeness and distinctness of my feelings
This is the contour of my sketch;
Finding it’s purpose through the canvas of my soul
This is a ditty;
I would utterly love to sing out loud.
“My hope is to be hopeful enough;
To spot the light even at the darkest end of the tunnel”
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| Picture Credit- From here |
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