Frozen Beauty

Frozen Beauty short poem

Photo by puliarf


Splendor of a moonlit night
frozen in vacuum silence of desolate air
lies within reach.
Let the mind break its golden cage
and spread flapping wings.
The sky and stars, trees and earth
will absorb all the steam
and bring us within our hold
for, we have a right to live every day.
Let’s open the chiller door
make a drink and make up our mind,
sip the beauty and spread ourselves.
That’s the way to peace and heaven,
that’s the way to live with self.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Profile photo of Sumit Ganguly

Sumit Ganguly

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
Brought up at the lap of nature, traveled around thousand miles for bread and butter but finally returned to poetry, my boyhood love.
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of
avatar
wpDiscuz

Beauty

Beauty prose poem

…So. I said: what is beauty? He said: it is the impossible being real, it is the kohl of a string on the forefingers of a guitar player, it is the explosion of astonishment on a beautiful lady’s waist, it

Beauty And The Beast

Beauty And The Beast short poem

I’ll teach you how to read How soft the pages feel underneath your rough fingertips I’ll teach you how to play the violin, How music reveals what’s been hidden for years I’ll teach you how to braid your hair To

Thine Beauty

Thine Beauty short poem

The beauty of thine essence is the one, which never to be compared to ye. As, thou art the miracle of this alluring nature. And thy is the beauty which exhibits thousand works of the superior lord. From whence I

Beauty

Beauty short poem

In the dust storm a discarded moon sat in my lap. Then internal rhythm crashed. Amorphic I would not find the music of words translated into a kiss. Gold started weeping in my hands. The clouds will rest after committing

The Beauty Fades When I Am Not A Keats

The Beauty Fades When I Am Not A Keats short poem

The bygone art, a dead shrine; Thou not dead, thou live… shall live By art of carve that plays on and will it play Forever, timeless, in century’s lap The beauty, thou struck me a year back: So calm, so