As the name suggests, this genre comprises of poems that are short in length and use literary techniques such as meter, metaphor and rhyme. Short poems present the extravagant experiences, the long extensive thoughts in a shorter version. A piece of writing using beautiful or unusual language arranged in fixed lines that have a beat and often rhyme.
Surrounded by darkness Venom of retribution Closed doors, empty corridors No trespassing No sacred earth Just a no man’s land Every step fraught in minefield Nothing escapes the watchful eye Nothing spared off memory All transgressions etched in time Void
One passionate life, A desire to fly, All I dream of, Is living in the sky. One passionate dance, One loving kiss, One glorious night, Under the sparkling moon. One healing touch, One unexpected move, All I desire is, Your
A beautiful butterfly sits on my palm, Radiating the brilliance of its colors, Shades unseen, unfathomable… I am so mesmerized; I close my other palm on it to make it my own. I peek through the void created by my
I stand alone gulping the lazy sun Slouching in sky, avoiding everyone A chaotic day, finally descending Darkness sprouts an intoxicated ending A quiet little leaf falls from a tree You sigh at its fall, I am glad it’s free
If I were a toy solider, I would sail, A child’s paper boat of reveries, When the afternoon was a languorous snail, And the scent of sleep slept upon trees. I would be the smile that played on his eyes,
Heaps and heaps of words Stuck in desperation, mute, blind I un-turn pages and unfold stories A deliberate, hysterical rewind A happy poem they ask for Color, dance and delight I dig out thoughts, restlessly Terrified letters turn white A
I am tired of my rants like a millions hammers pounding away in my brain constant chatter drowns sanity expectations love and affection comfort insecurities and misadventures regrets lost and found a million lives not lived what could be and
Liars are them who say aren’t afraid of the dark. Monsters under them bed they fear… The howl of wolf at a distance they hear… Liars are them who say they aren’t afraid of the dark. Marshy creeks. Silence shrieks.
The last bit of cigarette from his hand drops into the ashtray. So does mine. Are they making love to each other, As we are? Love, need, passion, kisses, skin, climax. Are their thoughts like ours, burnt and spent? As
I sat by the window, With a cup of tea warming my palms, And watched the plummeting raindrops, Gleefully break into a sprightly dance. One by one the drops, Glided down the window pane, And with great rhythm and motion,
With fireflies in a jar, I treaded along the path, Strewn with silver streaked flowers, Under the starlit sky. The moon hid its face , Behind the cloudy sheers, And beckoned to the trees, To sing a soothing lullaby. A
The hopes of a harvest seem distant, Beneath yonder scalding sun. Oh destinies are you penitent, For all that you have done. The money- lenders scream beyond the din, Of your crying starved children. Dreams in your eyes and a
My breath, Mixed with pungent thoughts Dissolves within And grow thoughts under my skin Like a disease, spread with ease! My breath, Crawls in the tunnel of lungs Doing an abandoned dance, in trance In pain she sighs, and yet