Abandoned poems circle the theme of rejection which tosses an individual into an abyss of despair and hopelessness. Some of these poems are usually personal, addressing a loved one who had left them behind. Abandoned poems are charged with a feeling of emptiness, rejection and utter vacancy.
the punctuations start crumbling a soldier falls to coyotes this was their space a moon was sitting in waiting room inhabiting war at a defining moment it was a fatal attack from the guards impersonal ripping through the passions to
Left in fuchsia, left awful, never happen, smiled and gazed, waited until twilight, never came, , left solo, left naught, left heartbroken, no place to be found. ran, barefoot and red, eyes blurry with pain. left me, escaped passed strangers,
Reporting my story to you Live on CNN the Cable Network News Interviews with Christiane Amanpour So ambitious she wants to write my memoir Like TmZ hasn’t already asked for more Even though I’m so unknown Boy from the projects
I saw you alright, but I am not noticing you yet you have come at the wrong moment, and I cannot be your destiny, I cannot yield to myself anymore. And yes the flame has died down there is nothing
She woke up, the little girl. Crying in bed “I want my daddy” Trembling she said Daddy’s gone long He won’t be back soon You can sleep with mommy Inside her room The girl refused Still crying for her dad
I believe, I had not arrived when you were arbitrating between naked steel and the truth. Violence were you. I was watching the burning pyres in a row. Small hands were collecting the ashes, casting glances on the falcons. Why
full moon, was taking a bath on hills. Trees were waiting for the curtains to rise. Scented stars would make giant scars on the clouds, I would make peace with the sky. Lids of human greed were laden, with golden
I was not capable of contradicting the quietness. A silent emotion was insulting me. Forgetting the self-denial I went for choosing the impossible. Am I sick of myself? The agony overwhelms me with mystic relief. Here and now I feel
So what does it take? Me succeeding for you to care Is success a reason to stay Or is the lack of it an excuse to abandon me I thought we were family Yes by blood but it’s more than
The sky is deep and murky green, The white sun sinking over the horizon, Extended by junk and litter. This is the oxymoronic haven. A carnival of despair Filled with torturous laughter Distorted, slow, hurdy-gurdy whistles, And tinkling, unsettling music-boxes.
We watched them leaving- Leaving for the western plateau. We have our kin over there. They have promised them free passage. Will the others do the same? Some of them vowed to come back. Some of them cursed us back.
Your body in mud pack, in line of fire suddenly finds a lover. I was watching with concern. Cup of soul, lined with abrasive desires was empty. Do not go raging in the sea, to collect the salt. The pink
A love story left untold, it was our story like any other story, you were the prince and I was your crown, waiting to bestowed upon you one day, a crown you admired, wished for, dreamt of, your love was
Walking on dead leaves covering the grass to and fro, to and fro in solitude, hiding behind the mask, pithy face, ideas rebounding, a loaded eloquence, opening a dialogue with self, quietly bleeding inside. You are hearing the sounds of
I refuse to inherit cruel conditioning I will breathe my own bizarre air Call me a rebel if you wish I don’t deny, nor do I care Bare feet on filthy roads A brutal smile to each stranger I refuse
Why should the black be discriminated ? whether your blood be high land or low, whether your skin be black or white as the snow, Of reason there’s none, and why should there be As long as there’s fire in
People turn to perceive love as a fragrance, spreading from a new bud; Which blossoms and turns into beautiful flower in each passing day But the same bud coarsens and falls apart from the stem, No one realizes the phase
The clouds, would give us no clue. Miles around, seemed abandoned… Do you ever miss us, glance down? Ever Wonder on how days pass by, here. It’s been a while, we heard mama say.. Life shallow, and she in her
In my mind’s eye, I see the humiliation of you. How you endured all that hatred of the world. As we sinned in glorious splender, with much to do You silently suffered and hurled Us towards salvation, as each hammer
Atlantic City, not a place but the fragment Of a memory that lights up bright and garish In the starless night when day is done When ragged dreams arise from murky beds Beneath the waves washing up like seaweed On
Kashmir weeps, All her admirers abandoned, She had all to attract, The beautiful valleys, Proud and elegant mountains, Greenary,lakes and what not? A heaven on earth, Kashmir weeps, Curses its destiny, Literary turned into a military camp, Rich culture heritage
“So finally, he got talking, As if his patience had succumbed. The one who’s closest to me, Well, on a physical level, for sure; against whom I press my cheek. Who I’ve spent innumerable nights with. Sometimes, he brings along
It’s a toss, head or tail but you never know, She shows the head and buries the tail but still you can’t tell, She seems right but what of her other side? Who is there to share the other side
She exists in the body, a visual myth Materializing out of stone A solitary figure carefully etched Into the mind’s eye, breathing Brooding, testing the air for its secrets Tasting the wind for things to come She is to my
This is a poem of male roads. It starts with an ordinary road made up of daily traffic plus the occasional traveler impulsively joining the regulars. Unlike them he cannot calculate whether or not it is worth such risk. The
You are the most fickle thing of the world, You show the most amazing movie of the world, You are the game-changer of the world, Everything revolves around you in this world. Oh Mind! You are the ceaseless, the most
FITS AND STARTS For a cold winter’s day When you’re, maybe, all sad and forlorn, Here’s a tale, Which, to many, may not be known. It may not be a mystery, it may not evoke fear, But it shall make
A waft of misty enchantment, Created a magic in the air, A butterfly unfolded its wings, Kissed a beautiful flower, She gracefully opened her petals, Giving in to its gentle embrace, Surrendering itself in abandoned joy, Gifting its nectar of
It’s not the answer but the question that eludes us Leaving us no choice but to render an answer Without knowing the reason Like some sandy trail that the wind has obliterated In a vast and infamous desert Having nothing
Slowly, slowly as the storm brews Dark Images, thoughts and words of abuse Tunnelling, focusing, blurred then black Is that yet another knife in my back? Raging inside yet aware, not awake Cornered and shaken, I will not let them
This is not a poem but a misunderstood flower, Lost on a platform where the trains only go into autumn. This is not a poem but a dilapidated city, Where no one will ever again remember to hum. This is
If you’ve ever been broken hearted, so lost and alone, just run to the one who poured out his love. If you’ve ever been persecuted, and you feel like giving up, Open your eyes and lift your hands up. ‘Cause
In the often abject monotony of life, Amidst all the trials and troubles that abound, I asked the Lord, who is my Creator, “Why am I forsaken, God? Alone, with no one to hold close? Who shall I turn to
You’re welcome in! I’ve seen you…. In my dreams, as in life, echoing the velvet onyx abyss of your soulless heart, And sweetly enshrouded with the eternal stench of history’s charm. The doors, portcullis to my chamber, lay stark wide,
Happiness! Happiness! Oh! Happiness! Where are thou? You were with me, when I was in primary school, though I never thought much of you, You followed me to secondary school, there also I didn’t recognize you, You were a friend
In winter of 2010, January 12 at 6:00 in the afternoon- an earthquake devastated the country in just six little seconds. Soon after, a smoke rose from the horizon covering the whole country, in every cloud of smoke, I could
There was the hunger and suicide. In favor of my brutal truth or virtue of my failure, I do not want any comments on my trauma. Morality has a dubious equation with power, provoking my anger. The days were full
Ruby by name and as precious as the stone With her in my life I’m never alone My ruby isn’t a stone she is my rock Undivided love I just can’t knock My Ruby isn’t red although she does shine
It so happens. these days, I come to you with forgotten sails, with abandoned poems, with a heart worn away by the salt of this world. It so happens that I arrive at your door empty-handed. I have nothing to
I ache for you With emptiness inside I feel such deep despair I feel incomplete, forgotten, forsaken Yet, you don’t seem to care Floating in the icy air A dry, dead, abandoned leaf Moving about in seeming disregard Searching for
Good evening, class. Tonight we will discuss the urban environment of American cities, the neighborhoods, hoods & enclaves Of a collection of people, some who step carefully over glass- covered sidewalks & play in Needle-filled parks, who avoid the homeless
Why must you lure me so? You bewitching jewel, your radiant skin is only matched by the glint in your eyes. Your hair cascades down your shoulders with More conviction than the most splendid waterfall, But after all this, do
Tattered clothes that were barely there Her tortured soul was threadbare too. She mirrored our impotent helplessness In the face of destiny’s dire performance As we watched her bizarre life played out. Every time I saw her writhe and squirm,
Even the sleeping genes learn from their crashes with needles in eyes. A candid house chooses to fade after thinning of a blessing. Legacy of a heretic lives, dragging down the cracked joints of a frozen mirror. The wild lips
I really thought I loved you, I actually thought you cared I wish you had told me, But I knew you wouldn’t dare I wish I didn’t love you, I wish I never cared The remains of my pride, Drift
