Departure poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of departure poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on departure are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Your absence was left beside me for the white salt, unsolicited, unbroken wants. Asking to return the dried roses pressed between the pages of talking book. Counting only the dying fireworks the hissing sparks, left in the unwrapped bones and
Descending schools of clear droplets wash away yesterday, Thunder bellows and shakes …stirs thoughts adrift in the distance, trickles of fine creeks merge on the bedroom window pane. ..and I reflect back to a man…an essential friend… His last night.
The Door// By: Fareed Ghanem **** (1) The door; outside there is everything; flags and noise, traffic policemen, temptation apples, toothy eyes, ears calculating breath-bangs, tinny moon counting steps, cheeks which flower with love, ready to pass to oblivion, flattering
Forget me not, my vintage friend, though life in me takes flight. I’m with you now and always, though far and out of sight. Remember all the best of times and love that we both shared, and let those memories
You told me lot of stories….. on the field, in the moonlit night. stars above and the moon alone listened to your words, far away, someone is singing a song, song of desire and despair song of departure……. a story
He picks, that’s what he does. Picks his brain for rational thoughts. Rips them apart, twists the bits and joins them back again, misshapen. Holds them up to the light, interrogates them, tortures them and Then drowns them in the
It is 11.30 at night- A night train is appearing into our sight- Porters are walking up and down the station, They are keeping watch on train’s arrival with great caution- They are frantic to the passengers- who will get
With an empty pocket, and an attitude He strolls down the streets…… With an empty heart, an empath he is Swings by swindlers, a philanthropist, Little lunatic street urchin he is……. When night falls Kevin watches upon others Like fathers
heartbeat time flows swiftly by- distilling within that certain pain inherent in understanding a depth of grief is felt upon a fellow voyager’s departure- somehow balanced by its magnetic partner- joy sorrow slips in and out as we move through-
today i am not one whole, placid; blood streaked globe of full moon was hovering over me all night to freeze a ruined landscape, i was not ready for the departure, untying the knots of water, like the storm opening
Distinguishment The labours of impression The ascent apparent in its brute The uproar which soon I fear perceives an inglorious seclusion Most amiable and devoted My mode of life was in behalf of my hunger And I rise from its
Don’t stay away my dear, Valentine’s Day is knocking at the door. I am leaping with joy, When you would come and say hi ! Self-consolation is not fruitful, anymore, It is intolerable to tolerate your departure. Saint Valentine, may
Drop by drop they scatter on ground With a melancholy sound to cherish in time Flowers with drops falling to their fine textures Stood drenched aside with tapering stems The rain showers nurturing their roots of growth Been a life
We have tasted the warmth of passion for the first time since the departure of the Fallen One. Its tender sweetness has almost been forgotten on our tongue. The Traveler has impacted us more than we thought possible. Such intensity
Routine activities seldom add pages to the life’s file while human sentimental values take back stage When my daughter decided to re-settle abroad I felt happy for her taking the path of prosperity As the D-day of her departure neared
In a quiet, solitary room, the light softly pours into the multi-colored windows, Filling it with a reminder of the Father’s covenant. The children gather one by one and two by two, Praying for hope to be given in the
The heart rending wail from the floor below Found its way into the corridors of my mind, Echoing in my brain long after it subsided. It was Munna’s mom, who died that morning, As drastically as Jigjri’s son lost his
After the rain wets the ground, a damp, naked silence, floats in air on the wrong side of the moon. A strange mist, like a post coital whiff envelops you savagely. The testa breaks. A forest heaves beneath your nails.
Mystery within my seizure: Who are you? Who are you? Why are you leaving? Where are you going? I uttered these words during a seizure. Imagining you puts my mind under pressure. Searching for your identity is like a hunt
Our conversations are like kisses to me. Your mouth opens and closes in tandem with mine as we share emotions and intimacies, translating incomprehensible feelings from the hearts of our hearts. I feel you more in your absence than I
आब-ए-तलब तो हलक-ए-हासिलियत की मै नहीं होनी चाहिये ? मुसलसल तिश्नगी-ए-रुक्सत से हौसला-ओ-हिम्मत ज़वाल नहीं होनी चाहिए? इल्ज़ाम-ए-फाकह्मस्त से तारुफ़ रखते हैं मुसाफिर, प्यास-ए-ताजरिबह-ए-सरापा की लिखी ये आस , उनको नहीं होनी चाहिए? मौकापरस्त इस वक़्त की तूने बेशुमार कीमत
Daily chores has no place for sentiment each one has plans earmarked for the day Busy person has no time to spare time with near and dear lazy person has no mind to think about near and dear Present generation
All those years I underwent orthodontic care for naught cuz profound gum recession and bone dissolution found me fraught with an angst riddled necessity whence dentures bought or will soon bring relief, where financial cost to me = aught. though
In a fleeting moment of your life you will make a decision that changes your life forever Remember that moment and you can see into the other future you would have led A memory of one’s self is a striking
He went under pile of words to tie the thread of understanding but was stoned to death. They put the piglets in liquid nitrogen for future generations to study. The point of departure had come. Navel-gazing was the best pastime
Simmering on a distant shore, my minds eye floats upon. Swirling thought upon swirling thought do my reflections grow. Infinite realms offer fertile grounds to burrow through. Mountains of realities the minds eye sees one as real as them all.
Family first, And old saying, As if from a western, Almost sounds rehearsed. Yet when I tip my cap, On this dusty afternoon, I appreciate the folks, Whom without life’s a lonely moon. When carrying across, Metaphorical plains, Dry and
somewhere out on the island after a bitter flight one of those roads where they let the timber stand stuck to the blind undulations in the landscape peaks and troughs more or less permanent just an empty place for wildlife
Don’t let you heart become a paper boat sailing Towards childhood, Towards the harbour of its never returning fragrances. Don’t float towards its crescent moons if you could, Or the enchanting crooning of its past tenses. Don’t become an interpreter