Beard poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of beard poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on beard are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
like ether, permeating all space mesmerizing, he walked away, head of his enemy in his hand, like a trophy? frighteningly orangish a decapitated body shudders. The holy war demands its price of a joke. The face of red and blue.
The ugliest woman that ever was born was called Margery Pilkington-Brown. If a monkey was born half as ugly as that they would certainly have it put down. Her head was as bald as a billiard ball, yet the hair
Seek knowledge from the cradle to the grave -Prophet Mohammed Last night I dreamed the snow-capped hills of Swat… I saw the green spread valleys And the lucid swat river I stood for a while in front of the gate
When I first adorned you, I was always so unsure… I was fighting my conscience, And kept looking for a cure…! Years passed yet I wondered, What would this world say… If I went on with you, For any longer
Like every morning, he has just returned from his office and is right in-front of one of his roommate and so called friend’s lappy’; Going through all previous messages sent by her on Facebook. No doubt, his life has been
With endless poverty gleaming in their eyes, Dreams, desires and will to live; Everything has faded to get fled, In a beggar; a living dead, A zombie on the streets. With an affirmative urge in hesitation, Cohesively willing to die
He knows the place Its depths, its visions, its dark illusions And the face in the mirror Opaque with age The wispy beard now snowy white Clouds snag on the mountain peaks Fingers of rain stroke the earth Tracing their
well past closing all the glasses dirty no one’s gone home despite the bruised air ceiling fans limping round the woman at the mic is no longer singing just making music erecting sand dunes it’s gymnastics on the stage they
Not Too Verbose, Like Other Goose, Bla, Bla, Bla, Yeh…. Not a Communal Preferer, Like Other Piles Of Manure, Brag, Brag, Brag, Ney…. Like a Lactose Heart; Glorious, So Pious, Meant For Reverence; Reliable. Too Practical, So Mercurious, Far Concise,
(1) At ‘Bab Al-nairab gate’,(1)on a pile of wet smoke, I meet a sackcloth, a muddy bear fur and two women; one holds by her amputated palm the tail of ‘Sayf Aldawla’s(2) robe, the other sings a rocky song. The
From farthest East, or more precise The forests vast on India’s breast, Rose hymns of wisdom that never dies, The words of knowledge, forever best. Those hymns were born from wisest hearts, As throats would trill in sombre shades; They
A man’s choice for imperfect specialty Devoid a woman’s continued quest for security Likewise the two waters in diversity. He believes compromise leads to serenity To the long-haired nothing but a fallacy Then why do the waters co-exist in harmony?
Their first conversation had few words, But seasoned it was with measured laughter. They agreed the tea was good, and the weather pleasant, And decided to meet the weekend after. He worked his beard a tad carefully that morning, And
You can learn a lot about a person watching them eat an apple even watching them in the supermarket give them a five dollar bill and tell them pick out any apple you want, it’s on me those store aisles
In comics and legends, the hero always has a power, a secret kept from them, that emerges, separates them from the mundane. consider an elderly man he can read everyone’s mind was told this by his mother and also told
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
Winter fogs are delving over city Like birds of prey with breathless cold Each drop moistens your lips Passing shivering kisses like beloved. The last afternoon sun that brought comforting warm Meekly knocking at the door of grey sky, Her
Arcturus touches me pinpricks of a blood orange juice I walk naked in the night serenaded by frogs daring bats to tear mosquitos from my hair warmth of August stars ripple with atmosphere all those photons painting me the perverts
It’s like a bird limited by movements brooding later on love, feed, and flight, flight, flight. It’s like a fish swimming in a sea of habits forgetting self for few minutes of relishing self. It’s like the lord of forest
How will it change when we know? How will civilization be rearranged? All that we known comes from one place and time, one little speck in space. Great religions over eons have arisen telling all how things must certainly be.
You ask about these tears These tears I cry…. Rolling down my face With every heave and sigh For a dying world Drowning in misery And hate ……These tears I cry For the lonely, The dying and The socially displaced
November 9, a stroke again in her life, The broken phone lying near the bed, her eyes filled with tears, a blade in her left hand and bleeding fingers of her right hand, all spoke the same story of betrayal.
My burned beauty will tell my story My altitudinous towers of pain owe the glory call it my fate or the natures philosophy Nothing, no one senses FOR ME but SORRY While staring at my face, searching for my eyes With
Gone are the days When we used to be Selfless— When we used to Help others Without expecting Anything in return! Today, We no longer Help others Out of sheer Love And concern! We dish out favours to them And,
It has been raining I stood on the window Looking at the rain drops Silently tip toeing at moments Restless pouring at times I looked at the clouds As if walking hand in hand Like lovers lost, like friends found
Look in the mirror. What do you see? Depends on the choices you’ve made. Depends on your programming. Depends on where you were born. Depends on what you were born. Look in the mirror. What part will you play? A
Fed up of being so gloomy everyday. Adventures await I tell everyday. Again and again I am deceived they say, in spite of that I want to gamble everyday. Even now I don’t realize the truth, but I want to
I used to think that fish In little bowls and aquariums Were pitiful prisoners of men Deprived of freedom Defined by frontiers Hindered by limits But now I know that fish Might be happy in their prisons Able to explore
Marching slowly towards western horizon The sun goes to plunge down the hills over there As if exhausted by the day- long travel Traversing the sky from one end to the other . Wonder if it seeks for a little