Cocoon Poems

We are all tightly wrapped. It began at birth. We are born with tendency, but the wrapping begins at birth. Like an Egyptian mummy the world begins to wrap. As the years go by the cocoon thickens. Depending on where

She waited it out as time passed by, looking at the world from the corner of her eye. They came and went like a passing tide, as she stood there silently by the side. Another rippled by her feet as

Jealousy has grown like fruitless trees It has spread like width of seven seas It can’t be justified with very many pleas Life is condensed cocoon of humming bees Humans are no more, but hollowness remains Losses have crossed the

There is a voice in me, I listen to barely. Invisible as phantom shadows, It haunts me, taunts me. I sip some poison Inebriated; It flaunts me. It knocks me off, Scissors me in two, ‘Good or evil, whose baby

Where is the breath That I crave so much Hiding and playing games Just beyond my reach Fingers too stiff to touch To breathe To live To need what is aloof and Teasing me to beseech The air in the

Gleaming and shining with a mesmerizing light; peeping through my window at night, Oh playful, delightful and lucid moon, I cannot play with you, hide away soon! Disappear amidst the clouds carefree moon; Put off your glaring shine now soon,

To my cocoon I wish to return To the safety of my nest. To the womb that nurtured me Where I had long been in blissful unawareness With eyes shut tight Fists clenched too Yet to feel , see and

He slept and dreamt of her again Her sweet encouraging voice But whose was it, so familiar? Her words always gave him hope A reason to live as if he was destined to do something great. Soon his life became

On a bright summer afternoon, Sometime around July I saw something like a cocoon, About to be a butterfly At the break of the night, On the 16th day It took its first flight, Towards the skies far away With

Mother, they said I would find you if I looked deep in my heart – an image of love I shall see there that glows in its ramparts. So I looked behind all the walls upon which the drums did

I am a beautiful man though once I was an ugly boy worms split at the advance of my sneakers they knew what was coming I never shared chocolate turned sour to spite me this is no caterpillar and cocoon

I am convinced that the “Maker of me” has set me on a charted course For the most part, I have always been okay with the ‘Who” of me But honestly, it was God and my development into maturity that

Come out of the cocoons, the light is waiting for you, Climb up the well, Your species is waiting for you, But once you are out of the cocoon, Once you are out of the well, Do not teach me

I dream to kiss your smile and hold your sight, Neglect the night in favor of your touch, Forsake the world, to make this feeling right, And wonder between sighs why love is such; Like one held in cocoon of

On Christmas, Hegel smiles; No year stands up unless a year dies. No butterfly flies up, unless a cocoon is torn out. Crucifixion, dear gentlemen, is the ultimate dialect in the forest of a boring time. Crucifixion, dear ladies, is

Like a moth inside the cocoon, Waiting to kiss the bright sun, Growing its wings in silence, Slowly losing its innocence. The girl next to me seems pretty, My talks to her sweet and witty, I learned a new word

It was a summer night. A windswept moonbeam plummeted. Sexualizing an indigo flesh. A butcher was seducing a spider, in company of a holy book. Sunbathing in mass grave of skulls. The eyes peeking out of the caps. You want

She was too smart to be herself Too feeble to live for her own She kept her dreams locked in her closet They kept sulking and dying Dejected, in their own cocoon. In every ruin, she found her castle Each

I am just a thread. I came out of the fibers of a tree older than letters, or – maybe – out of a cotton plant thrown by chance winds into a field where stones, flowers, thorns and wheat multiply,

Awaken like the swelling sun, My exotic lust takes a slow run Awaken like the genesis of day, My sweet love sings this midday A new sound is heard like the call of a bird, My will sobs at the

I love the misty mornings, Lord The days when I can’t see Beyond the garden’s leafy edge And things that bother me I love a world so small and snug A gentle cocoon shroud Where all I touch is soft

Don’t tell on me, but yes, I can’t breathe no more, This smile concealing my frightened soul, I can’t take no more, Don’t tell on me; have lost myself in all these, I’m just a walking robot, no one sees

Divinity isn’t bestowed no one interviews you for that job insanity is a big part of the benefits package once you’ve actually experienced Truth you cease if an animal became human – evolution in action – what does a human

She is the first and last woman; Her hair is one thousand color waterfalls, nature briefed in her two almond eyes, her eyebrows two gardens riding on astonishment whispers, her cheeks two apples rolling down from Paradise always fleeing away

From my lashes fall a salty solution but never the solution to the trigger of my violent pollution. Feeding the well within me with ammunition of self-pity. My thoughts seeking through garbage dumps of my mishaps, picking up and hoarding

(1) Here I am bathing, this winter, like an antelope under rain showers. God’s voice is still walking on clay laid out from the beginning of time up to the end of earth. The first woman’s eyelashes are scattering from

“Life has ups and downs” said they, So she endured all the pain without any debate… Happiness will enliven her life soon, She was told, if she will wait… But gradually her hardship intensified further, And those hopeful eyes still

The Koreans are trading artillery shots a few more young lives shredded all those safe old crows remaking nests eyes so dark you can’t see them when they shift focus you think they’re watching your hands until you feel a

Character inherent , determines ones nature Person with self respect never asks for favours person with greed always seek favours person with crooked nature steal favours contended will feel UN easy accepting favours Avaricious will not rest in peace without

Nestled in the lap of a blooming tree She had just begun to weave Dreams of a sunny tomorrow . But Fate had planned otherwise And hatched a cruel plot To nip her hopes in the bud . A bolt

Usually the moon is watching But no light greets me now Please remember me for my thoughts Not my animation. Father can you remember happiness? Am I a manifestation of anger? Guilt? Deceipt? Mother do you feel hurt? What is

The week is nearly over and the nights are growing long, the verses turn melodious but the chorus names the song. The words sing out a message in the lines where they belong, the clock in the ticking corner is

the blue moon rises in the broken October sky a crooked smile crosses her face a tear in un-knowing eyes the puppet master pulls the strings the puppet seems surprised she dances in the moonlight in the yard where graves

Writing on sleeves to remember your departure and becoming a stray cloud. The maternal touch of the sky, you can sleep whole life on dense logics. White sheets were burning unannounced in the home. I lost the key, to open

Each city is a hyperbole there is no homogeneity, it is not the sum of its parts or a royal being surround by courtiers, rather a convention, a name and usually not the name it began with a viral negotiation

In the silence of my void I hear a voice When, The world has slept The human babble is quiet What is that I wonder? A sudden mystic thunder Keeps me awake Day or night I sit back with my

Roses are for the soul, giving peace and poise to one and all. Colours and hues so charming , their enchantment is undeniably heart-warming. ‘Roses’ word full of fragrances, delight to the soul and freshens one’s senses. Awesome flowers having

After so much struggle  Throughout the year , After achieving success  That you had feared, It’s time to cherish.  To be thankful for the good  Experiences you had, To be grateful for the worst experiences from which you learned ,

The buff flaunts his elements in a dissenting voice. Don’t go into the lake. There were no survivors. Stop kissing the moon all night. Clouds were moving away for the coronation of the sun. The windowpane was broken. Somebody has

With my sincerest apologies to James Shirley The glories of our spoons and plates Are filling, quite substantial things; There is so much amour of the palate; We lay our hands on all manner of things: Bread toasted brown Flora