Centriolum poems bring the best collection of short and long centriolum poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great centriolum rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these centriolum poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on centriolum are here for you.
Never in those sizzling conflicts displaying the pink eyes you were able to reach me. Was it metagenesis, forgetting your selfhood? Fragments of a beast were floating on sea. Was umblicus of death broken in the crotch of a mother?
I Feel You!… I feel you in everything… in the glorious nights inside your incandescent eyes where butterflies knit my dreams and compass my heartbeats. I feel you in everything… while resting your sigh in the corner of a letter
I used up half year’s saving and crossed the ocean just for you For this hard-won rendezvous I even rehearsed breathing at sight of you I failed to express my love even one thousandth to you This regret tortured me
Something was not polite in signs. The smell of incarcerated bed of gods was floating down. A subdued shadow of the black moon was climbing on the window. And each house had offered a son, to rage a war of
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
“I am The Wind!” My whispering Breeze echoes, ” I am here” Whooshing, whistling, lustily gusting Mysteriously surrounding the atmosphere I am a definite presence felt, but not seen Whipping and making restless nature’s green Often my capricious air soothes,
Take a break, what does that really mean? Break an arm, a foot; break wind or a stick. Maybe, perhaps; but take a look a little deeper is the thought. Re-visit, revise; review, recharge. Take a head break, a spirit
By tinkling its silver anklets, She, my own blue river flows in twilight! the sand shores and waves forget themselves; while in a wet kiss; Then in a lovely embrace! By tinkling its silver anklets, she, my own blue river
Hello darkness my true friend, In you I find solace, With the setting sun you come each day, Sometimes early, sometimes late yet unfailingly there. I bury my head in the crook of your shoulder, I lay there waiting, And
The habit of my soul to just walk away, leaving all relations one by one. Taking all the misfortunes, and the blames thereof, and the seduction of the silence of the mourning afterwards. Yes I know it has got that
Walked we did, and even talked Feeling that the path was same No object nor purpose ever blocked Till one day with none to blame We realised the parallel paths. I could see the world like you No questions asked,
One final leap from high solitude into city of dusk, takes you to presence of charred remains of a fallen god. A housewife moves in the kitchen to prepare a farewell dinner for the encounter of fatal descent. A paranormal
I’m trying to escape from the prison I made, once, for my flesh, shattering the bars of fear which lost their purpose and meaning- something dies in me yet I replenish myself as a round moon. Walls, raised by my
It was midnight moon cruising in the bedroom. I step aside in the depressed window, watch the overwhelming spillover. I listen, then do not listen to alien voices of bipolar beings, speaking Aryan, artfully in cryptic signs crunching the bones.
Give the words, the forest and garden, he is in a lonely penitentiary. Have you seen the patio of roses beside the haunted house, a hothouse of wild dreams traveling wide path of island universe. In this fallen twilight, in
I’m sorry, but, ghosts are not scary. They live inside me. They live inside you. And without realizing, they consume us whole Of course, they are here to destroy But the destruction..? It’s so silent And silence, so to say,
Imagine words that break the ground beneath your feet, And tear your core, And part the seas, And leave you breathless, Imagine living just one time, but knowing it is enough. You won’t. You’ll wait for nothing until you hold
Bird with colorful freedom Slumbers in a golden cage With clipped wings And away from the ostentious world The free cadaverous bird Lured away from self discovery Will surely fall into An unfathomable pit of failure The floundering bird Struck
While you sit quiet and stare, I look into your eyes And I see why it is worth paying the price The price of being hurt and down Breathing through all the coldness your heart has blown Though you tirelessly
‘Yes, I will sing of thee, So dear to me’s the theme, And distant years shall hear the lay By mountain, vale and stream..’ – Charles Spence, Perthshire, 1898 White Campion flower soaked fields in summer, They choreograph in the
I remember the laughter and all of the smiles, The journey that seemed like a million miles, The happy times when I had such fun, But really….who did I become. I often wondered what life’s about, When it felt my
Our fingers were clasped with the clasp of a friend, Each bosom rebounded with youthful delight, We were foremost to honour and strong to defend, And Heaven, beholding, was charmed at the sight. We were friends, and the warmest of
When Dorothy was a child she started building a castle with bricks of yellow and blue; But how could she have known that someday soon Each one will be broken in two. The bricks consisted of ideas and thoughts, colorful
She stood on the lowest rung of the ladder Bereft of all good things in life. Her state of existence was conditioned by the divide That created a gulf between the haves and have-nots. The gulf showed no sign of
Let’s be swans in another life, Stand in peace side by side. Touch one another with eyes, Look chaste and princely white. Purity we will symbolize, When we spread up to rise, Become envoys from the skies And sing together
I am here on an archaeological quest, to satisfy many a curious mind’s request for knowledge on antiques and artifacts of Egypt’s long extinct historical facts, in treasured sands buried, like gold mines earnestly sought for in stories shrouded in
You ask if I believe in God. I think He’s left us all alone like sweaty children in a mall, searching for our mothers. But one glance at your tenderly upturned face, I can only breathe of white angels, gossamer
Small things were, Witness to genes- Of freak mutation. Tooth in eye, Becoming boat in blindness. Witch hazel, Fails to stop leakage. Thumb with beads of lymph – Stung high in stillness, Wants to peel off, The concept of injury.
We have many levels of beautiful Some are clear and visible, We may touch an adorableness, Skins depth though questionable of beauty. Imagine all the colours see the silhouette, Lustrous smooth and adorable, Blush fullness of the lips, Yet still
Soil, Don’t be fertile more, Don’t be a mother; Child-traffickers, like mad dogs, are moving everywhere. Don’t conceive any green more, Don’t conceive any forest; The blue-eyed woodcutters, like butchers, are sharpening their axes. O Soil, Rather become a desolate
It burrows deeper in the covert recess of pain, shunning violence of light: the epicenter of Armageddon, giving collective death to providence in a proxy war. The collasal gossip rests on the river of ashes, deflects the incredible starved children
loner in the desert incapable of enjoying the stars knight of no man’s land cannot stand on his own desperate for a touch ‘pathetic’, they shout and wonder how he lost his mind love only made him weaker as life