Going On

Going On short poem

Photo by h.koppdelaney

Hardly he could see the sun
And the eyes misted by fog.
Walks and walks this frozen lad
Until the unknown terminal.

Who could he rely upon?
Accompanied by the woods.
Singing a song of folk,
Nothing but walks on and on.

All he knows is winter month.
Neither time nor the space.
Poor lad don’t even know
his arrival in the forest.

Blowing wind and rustling leaves.
Sometimes swaying of the trees.
That is all he hears of,
no matter where ever he be !

Dark and cold is what he feels
Colliding with trunk of trees
Nowhere but to the same place
He reaches with every steps.

“This must be a trap”, he says
And some times thinks, “it must be a game.”
But never he ceased his walk
Although it was a living way.

“Don’t ever stop” whispers his soul
He walks and walks and then he runs
Something catches by his foot
Still he runs without a fall.

His breathing echoes all around
But he feels no stress at all.
And gradually comes the light.
His consciousness was all found.

There his eyes are open wide
A moving fan above his head
and blanket creeps to his legs
Shivers this kid in his bed.

Turning off the fan again,
muffles in the bed and thinks
“Going On, the only thing
helped me even in my dream.”

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Niraj Niroula

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'Let me write the instance confronting the death and I shall be the happiest man leaving', that's how I feel about writing.And about the Poetry; " His poetry, like your floating clouds of feeling, are but the blue drops of raining thought. To heal those pains of convention and fear; Nothing but the truth and nature to share."
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2 Comments on "Going On"

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wonderful read wonderful poem. My immediate thought after reading was Eye of the Storm that is life.
Your poem has a pull so will get back to it a few times I reckon. Sometimes given space re-reading gives a different perspective.


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