Destitute poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of destitute poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on destitute are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Was it really so necessary, For you both to get married; Was it so obligatory, For you to divorce and separate; Was it damn compulsory, For you to get me born; Was it really really required, For you to leave
When I was borne my mother passed away and one day father also left the hut leaving me alone and my destiny was now homeless, helpless and orphan vagabond I was now roaming around the road and streets in search
It’s said search for happiness Is the main reason for unhappiness All our life we search for happiness, We wait for some big happiness to come our way In the run, in the rush to get some big happiness We
Treating wife as a lover makes life so romantic Treating children like friends brings parents so close Worshipping parents like God makes life so sacred Treating friends as siblings make the relationship so special Taking care of the sick and
I know not what Happiness is I suppose it must be when I was an infant sucking mother’s breast milk in hunger I don’t know what happiness is all about may be what I felt when I became topper in
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
Getting into the room of a poet is like entering the cell of a prison unknowingly the prisoner… but you must keep quiet… because, such is the freedom of being kept behind bars, myriads of butterflies of freedom sleep there
Speak! My love to tell of how, this arc of circled light Might break upon darkness to dawn with unrequited might. Despair! Rides upon the night, unseen, unfelt, rich with life Through unwanted correspondence pain cuts with a knife To
Penniless, I get up in the morning having eight hours of sound sleep feeling fresh and happy. don’t you feel I am rich in spite of being Poor ? Milliner, I get disturbed sleep the whole night and get up
He walks down cobbles and blows bubbles for a pilgrimage of constant troubles, closing doors to tax men, running for milk floats, shunning almighty bible bashers, paints the flags of east London fascists Charlie chicken soup with a head like
A lost soul on stolen time wonders like a landscape drifter For I am that which stands before you, a bottom feeder and shapeshifter Wizards watch wrath without wondering why Wither away like roses in winter whispering a thundering cry
Times are fast flowing taking away that Precious bit of prudence we held so close to soothe A strung up nerve from letting loose. Today, imagine Getting caught At the cross wire of a Boy of ten frail years Asking
When you have been for long hanging into a strange nothingness, you begin to feel your floating hinges creak. Decide, decide, decide. Because everyone knows what they want from their lives (it’s believed). But creaking hinges are good I say,
Drifting by my window on a cold dark winters eve, no sound, nor chasing echo, no path to follow or deceive. A silent spectre; a mask of scorn, a hazy memory, from life ’twas torn. Jealously wanting what now it
The dazzling star went through me. I was undemanding from dusk to dusk hurting myself, not anybody. Time to meet my twin, to set the black on orange. My guilt, my fear, my foreboding. Let go off, my sap in
They talked regularly on the phone, They just can’t stay at their home They decided to take a step forward, And finally, they met afterward, When their eyes finally met, The time around them slept, When he spoke his first
His skin is the color of dark chocolate, his complexion is flawless, his eyes are caramel; they are big and beautiful, but they have a hint of sadness in it. He looks lost. His eyes seem to wonder a lot,
I have looked in vain, but my name is not listed among the “great” names of history. My heart skips when I learn a distant relative was a name that others will recognize. But the generations between are all forgotten
I searched for tranquility in more ways than one, but yet it is still hard to reach. My soul wonders from place to place without fear or stability. Once I thought I found a home near by the countryside with
Thoughts that run on my mind Millions and millions, at light speeds of time The anger and pain The love and the smiles The horrors and fears A future that’s so close but never near A past that’s far behind
The innocent and lovely creatures are crying, crying bitterly every moment, For their beauty is their curse; One can not listen to the cry, As it is disgracefully buried by the devils in the inaccessible depth of the secret world,
The aesthetic beauty of twilight , Reminds of a lost soul, In the fleeting moment of bygone years, That vanished to oblivion, Surfacing in the sea of thoughts, To bring back the silent hopes, Wishfully strewn in path of life.
I live in purgatory for my insignificant sins I could not have lived in this world without bondage and bindings This will last another lifetime it will seem but end within its own meanings Sometimes I think that purgatory is
Within your universe lies All the light in my eyes When I heard your voice I broke Caught between life and pain The delicate fabric of my dreams Ripped apart Dripping hot patchouli oil A thousand tiny shards Ajar Encapsulated
It’s a strange relation that we share, Strangest of them, but we dare To look at each other in the eyes And tell our hearts all those lies. But we have no promises to keep, No selfish meanings to reap.
Years have rolled by, But my relation, With you, Never ceases to amuse me Your scent and sight, Makes me feel bright Some like you light, But I like you dark, And strong Some like you cold, But I like
Manipulating grief, dirty hands – open the lid, release images. Eyes are blank. You unravel the last of roses. Surface tension wavers. An imbecile sky pours the eyes, nose and ears. Courtyard fills again, morphed resurrection. I am persona non
Life is swiftly passing by No one has time to look back Or no one is ready to think What has happened in the past. Go back to your own past, You will see an emptiness every where. Its the
Look at these lines – fishing for compliments – Hooked, they drag us back. Leave us squirming on the dry bank: Palpitating, bruised from the fight. Removing the pin from the mouth It’s a painful business. But worthwhile. Who’ll throw
What I am Who I want to be Am I just a stranger in this dinosaur world, or my is existence limited to rest ,eat and pee. Every day is a new day , I try to discover myself, The
Monologue of a monolith to live in a moment was futile. A young house was in disorder. Not listening, I would find the missing links. Grey ash to be smeared on forehead in horizontal lines for shifting the planets. The
I enjoy writing poetry, it makes me feel free. Before I write I think of every line, because in a poem everything rhymes. In a poem you write what you imagine, it is a written magic. What you write is
Well and these days are sad days Not Much of Nothing If Anything To brag about I must say…well the Candles still burn bright, I still live By the moonlight and you, you are Still the love of my life
I know him since he surprisingly visited us at our infanthood quarter. At that auburn day, we’d just filled up our pockets by our fists, snatched warm embers from the fireplace and from a dragon dwelling inside the tale, then
I lie in the shadows of my dreams while I wish upon a star. My star is faith. I have faith in God, yet I still cry my dirty cries. I am alone in the mellow of the night. I
With fractured hands I lit a pyre of small nudes with pink globes. A moon bleaches me white in a long night. A reprieve was needed from the scorching sun opening a jinx of a metaphor. The poems will take
Since when, Haven’t you smiled, I wish I had known. Since when, Have you been drinking away, Swallowing your fears, Treasuring your tears.. I wish I had known. I stand in front of you, And I cannot stop the endless
Been working for 31 years and never been to a union meeting to vote on anything other than up on a contract or for a strike the strike is remembered with shame and confusion, no one even asks no one
Somebody please take me, Take me away from here, I don’t want to feel this pain, Nor shed another tear. I’m all alone in a world of dark, There’s no way out for me, Why can’t you open you eyes,
Our love is not the stuff of legends, of poisons, of letters written with blood. ours is the gentle, everyday love. of fingers run through hair. of legs thrown upon legs. of little things. of wearing each other’s clothes. of
