There is nothing more for me with life to give, There is nothing more with me in life to live, But I am not so selfish to gift tears to dad and mom, Because I know they will be shattered when I am gone….
Today my little late arrivals fill them with a huge panic, And my death shock will surely throw them to live on medicine and tonic, I do not want them to live as a lifeless artificial object, Because I know I am their only living subject….
Though I smile hiding the dreadful rebelling storm inside myself, But I know I have to live to hold their hands to provide help, I am now in such a situation so cruelly harsh, That I feel I am stuck alone in the weeds of quick sinking marsh.
There is nothing more for me with life to give, There is nothing more with me in life to live……..
I am a college student with enormous energy to talk and act. I was in class three when I first wrote a story although it lacked traces of reality. It consisted of my imagination and rhymes. My parents were oblivious to the fact that I can write poems and stories, as I am a very secretive person. It was during my 12th standard examination when one of the invigilators found me of my scribbling on my question paper, a piece pertaining to the incidents of the Examination Hall. Since it consisted of blatant, ugly truths of the prevailing scenario of the Hall, I was reported to the Principal and my parents were summoned. That was how for the first time my parents came to know that I have a knack towards writing. I was censured, but simultaneously the externals did pat my back. And that's where I was propagated to take my writing seriously. It was my seat of Inception to Revelation of my Being through poems. It was an inexpressible feeling where I was chided as well as praised by my Principal Sir. This is why I kept on writing what ever popped up in my mind and penned down my thoughts about my family, nature, parents, feelings and even animals. I am not a poet by birth but I am a poet by situation. I love to write poems as they are my best means of expression and my pen is my best comrade.
An autopsy was being conducted with brutality to silence the rising dialogue, pulling out the lethal crunch of scripted history. You want the kiss of a parting grain. A secondhand face crops up in a newspaper. Are you ashamed of
Living in a cyst, it would explore the breast. The black ethics goes beyond the bounds of mystique of non-movement. A while away a conflict comes out of the body. Melts into a face. There is no flesh, no skin.
I want to be part of something Something greater than I Something that will continue to live when am gone I want to live for something something that will change the world something that will promote humanity I want to
Whereby: The scent of your breath love dances like a butterfly. Drenched in your raining desire lush spring awaits. Yearnings whispered vigorously. The sun kissed golden season’s ancient story filled with certainty and uncertainty. Every word I utter reflects you.
Divide & rule is a common act in our nations, They say politics is a dirt game, though every day we experience politics, Allocation of resources been major politics, It’s a horrifying reality but we have politicians & voters, Lisa