When one sings to the music of the soul, a ballad takes birth. Ballad is a form of verse, woven in a narrative set to music. This form of poetry derived from the medieval French chanson balladée or ballade, which means “dancing songs”. Ballads were originally written to accompany dances, and so were composed in couplets with refrains in alternate lines. So sing and set your poetic soul free with these beautiful ballads.
Played in the hills of another world`s land, Spent the nights reading in my room but always dreamed about lying in the sand. Then one evening between 15th and 17th of July, With his wings so heavy and attire so
All my walls are taken down, Nothing but little pieces of rubble, And I try to pick them up, But I fall down myself in a puddle; A puddle of hatred, of ribbing I’m broken and completely inside, I’m stupid,
I shrivel ‘neath a scorching sun, Devoid protection for my skin, An aching grimace, I’ll show none, Worse burning pain suppurates within. I wander naked through the rain, Although my body fully clothed, This broken love ne’er to regain, Only
Well I made mistakes. I said some things. Honey, I was wrong. I shouldn’t drink. I didn’t think, is what you could have said or done. But instead you walk away, said “you can’t stay,” and now you’re gone. And
Bloodshot eyes in heads so wise, they queued outside the door The men whose work began right there, at Tommy’s on the moor. Hands thrust deep in pockets to betray the shaking bones Of weather-beaten fingers whence they laboured sand
Our love came in the absence of rain. The avocado growers struggled while we grew with the rising temperature. 92, 97, 113 degrees fahrenheit… Not hot enough. We hid in dried out pools. We showered together to save water. We
I can never betray you for sure, Neither can leave you this way, For you are the one who taught me everything And nothing what I’m today. Everyone believes praying is a must, But I say that’s just a trust.
This is the tale that seldom gets told But remains as a legend to us all getting old. Its subject is rooted in seedy old bars And con-men who waved from their ill-gotten cars. So many people, their age-range diverse,
All seems normal Perhaps it’s so too. Yet there is a missing sting Of a blank. Or is it a mirage? Hopes and wishes Converge in tandem A tinge of bliss breathes With no clear touch A drop of deprivation
Two people met, accidentally. With no rhyme or reason, Not knowing where to begin, Unsure what to hold as conversation. Just when the silence was getting unbearable, There was a klink on the glass window. Slow drizzle of words poured
When that drop came to see you my heaven was just that tear Just my conscience could smell you without the nose which was already taken My heart beat just stopped like the ruined clock in your room My legs
With my scrunched and bushy furrowed brow I often ponder the precise circumstances any thing to be born Tracing back lineage of self or arbitrary individual unpredictable as the Dow Reckoning a series of events sustained life similar to sowing
Only a reminiscence of the love, the beauty of a feeling shared, A mirthful experience, days of undoubted happiness, Mutual bearing of nature, There when you avouched you would never leave, Those moments when you would hold on so tight,