Cage poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of cage poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on cage are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
I wondered, What does freedom mean to me? Perhaps, it could be liberty From the internal struggle, That I undergo everyday… In the distance, Through my window, I saw a little bird in a cage, And I wondered, What would
Too careless what’s going on all around, Although in a cage she is kept and bound, The couple is not free and cannot fly, When she sees other birds in open sky, She turns his nibs to the pretty spouse,
The words tumble within my head over and over and over and under one another they fight and reach; their footing, fate held in my hand; poised, tense in the world created by my pen I leave the safety of
I discovered a way a way that can bind, all scattered thoughts that run in my mind. Now I recollect them pick as I like, categorize, prioritize and bring them alive. It all starts with the first line sitting in,
only the half-truths engage the nightfall the thing of dawn asked to wait in pouring blows sponsored by sin of brutal torture burning the genitals pushing sand in mouth blood rimmed stool I become you sit on eat your dinner
What human values have we today, Than just seeking a helluva lot of Happiness for the notifications When the virtual defeats reality Am I too in same cage? To forget my Man and Sons and Daughters And care about gadgets
An imprisoned bird looks through the window, beauty of the stars in the dark sky. She dreams to fly with her wings wide, sensing the fresh air, rejoicing amidst her fellow birds. She dreams to be happy and free again,
Part I Has the spring of poetry faded away? In a deluge of falling leaves, When the shadows and lights are at play, Like transient doubts and beliefs. Have words become faceless apparitions, Gazing into the boundless night, At ancient
Once my husband brought a pair of white pigeons, Very beautiful with red eyes and lush red beaks. Extremely gorgeous with glorious visions, In our mother tongue we call it Laqa-kabootar. A special species of sweet white pigeons, In golden
Sinners hurt. While moonlight cracks open like a walnut, spreads soft light across open sky, they dart to alleyways, bury themselves behind their own trails shaking fists at the sky; hiding their nasty nonsense in shame, city buildings rattle their
Were I decreed a free choice of fate, Insouciant orioles! We shall be one! Gold-tainted-black, early morn or late, I flit-flirt with you in the sun. No gravity of custom flags me down No laws forbid me to fly, flit
Childhood …well that’s quite hazy. Everyday was a new task, every milestone a new story, every year a new place, a new start. Those days, those changes I had always wished it never happened or never mattered But here I am.. thrown
When the night train leaves the terminal, It’s body cold as a corpse, It’s lights alive as chickens in The butcher’s cage, I sit bunched up in my Flea market shawl beside the closed windows. I play that game of
A rain drenched evening, Slowly fading twilight, Holding the hem, Round and round she goes, With peacocks on their toes, At the courtyard enfolded with rows of rose. Hopscotch she plays, At times kicking into the puddles, Spreading her arms
She gathers her flying hair into a rocky braid, her eyes blow away into fire, soil and air. Her heart bangs drop, one by one, on the road. Her eyelashes melt into wax covering caves floors. Her stony dress waves
A harlequin parrot as free as a butterfly Flapp’d her rainbow wings in the azure sky Boasting her grandeur and flamboyance To mates devoid of charm and elegance She settled on the fecund oak tree’s bough Whose bare branches in
It is said, that suffering shows the truth. Only the sufferer discovers light of Being. Light contains seven colors. Yet I didn’t manage to catch the Rainbow. It is said, that suffering is, what is True. I know! I know!
Something to believe is miles away Searching for reason,one reason,desperately, to give up; Hope I can pretend I am dreaming Tough whirling pain inside, want it to die; Days turned out cloudy and foggy Not a moment to live in..
Whatever possesses one to feel liberation A handshake with the mock devil For in ones head is but a thought And others that fight to be heard To create an act of kindness An essence of the flimsy kind For
Let’s have a look back at the blissful past And remember a gifted shadow that shone A guest that stopped by my lawn so vast A cute little fellow dark as Black Beauty Settling on the emerald-green, pure grass Demanded
Black and white Like the colour of the colobus in Colorado Make me of Black Magic think. Witches that bring about white things. Black and white How can black ever rule the white? When even the darkness vamoose From the
If my face was 4.95 inches, and in each of these inches, instead of blemishes and pores, were five-thirty-eight pixels, would you look at me? if my voice was polyphonic, and instead of whispering, interrupted meetings, funerals, and family picnics,
That pound of muscle beating so hard Resolved to break every rib apart Or die in its venture with no life after Resounded the cage with a monstrous laughter Beating as hard as it could the muscle Sent into frenzy
… those nights, clear nights when I’m afraid that I’ll cut my flight on the brightest star and the wings of my thoughts will be burned on the pyre of forgetfulness of self before reaching the union of end with
Crescent moon winking behind cappuccino clouds Children dressed in designer hoody shrouds Virtual lives of imaginary friends Living in the empty space between conceptual bookends Checking in the mirror to see if its the real you Locked outside the cage
I am the little tiger that ran away The jungle seemed to disappear each day I wondered hard and long but I couldn’t stay So I walked down river to find another place to hunt and play Everywhere seemed to
How will you carry the mount of tears in the vally of temples? Kites flowing in sky of beings-egos-denials and repeals. Smiling at pain I unspeak to a keeper of cage, under the shadow of golden roses, walking with blue
Cutting across the food wars against adamant century do you think we will become extinct in this uncool climate? The dying windows do not throw any light. I fear in dark alone. The earthworms are nibbling at history of mankind.
I thought you would walk behind, but you went ahead. I felt your place is at home, but you went to rule the world. I believed knowledge is my domain, but you invaded that terrain. I was conditioned to believe