This Is Not A Poetry

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”
Picture Credit- From here
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