Doorstep Poems

I stand at my doorstep, Eyes straining on the very path you walked by… I wait to hear those footsteps retreating, back to me, you in my arms again… I shut the door, sighing. I then hear a soft knock;

It’s those sultry days that sooth my soul, In the searing heat, empty like after birth we would bath, Fear of appearing odd, the taste of the sweet waters, Oblivious of each other’s different destiny, Our foggy minds leading the

A sparkling path was chosen by one, providing mature wines for the cultured, elegant polished restaurants, operas of critical acclaim, endless parties for the ordained elite, cars which navigated and spoke, manicured sprawling homes, and… Shoes… closets and closets of

Our father left us while we were young We could not clean our own stable And we did not know how to But we knew how to protect our color. Our mother separated us for the reason You had to

If you find no poem on your doorstep in the morning, no paper, no knock on your door, your life poorly edited but no broken dashes or injured meter- If you do not wear white satin dresses late in life

Do you deem it courage? Or is it a kind of outrage Sparking off the blood-hued flares Igniting all particles of wrath present in the air Curses etched on the strips of little paper Nailed into the cloth flesh of

I walk down the bridge Whispering to my restless mind About your last night’s talk And those unfeeling hands of innocence The night eglantine smiles In its usual way At my timid inexpressive desire And the love filled eyes of

Running punctuality and just enough, under loyalty, The way the northern winds blew my skirts was seen by a youthful sun, mouthing expletives, It was under that noon, I met thee. Racing against cold blankets from afar, and fighting cocooned

Confused , lost , bloodshot eyes , A wanderer insomniac driven premise , Supreme anxiety , thumping palpitations, Pointless life dictated inhibitions , I Came at your doorstep, A depressed human being , A lifeless soul, Devoid of objectives ,

This is the road that leads to my father’s home It is old and dusty with bullock-carts creaking, Carrying the heavy weight of the freshly cut sugar-cane To the mills nearby for our sugar laden tables, Piled in our court-yards

One summer’s eve in Spain, I fled through an open window, Butterflies aflight In the very pit of me, And I tramped the streets, My heart abrim With such a love, But a love now long gone. With my final

Poems are reveries that call you by name. Like all true loves they arrive in spite of who you are, at your doorstep. Nothing needs to be done except to stay with your longing. They are miracles of compassion; they

In the arms of love, A beautiful untold story A loud silence that broke every barrier, The askance of the heart and its myriad worry Sojourning the barren mirth to make life merrier. Love’s wings summoned the romantist from Canada

He sat on the floor of his old room, his back Against the wall – everything was gone And the room said nothing though it had heard everything He’d ever said or thought, declared or mumbled under his breath The

It was afternoon hot on summer mid And the sky was blazing with unspeakable boiling, But still was graced with pound of clouds Which bore timid promises to overcome the summer damages. Then it was coming of rain like an

though moo cho yars older, i (bovine cuddly name = hay4four at aol dot com), could feign 2b a frat house bro by undergoing a facial augmentation – despite lacking dough unlike the multimillionaires here in lower merion, where a

Roses are red and violets are blue, I’ve run out of violets, for the violets were you. Since the roses turned black the flowers have died, You left me on my doorstep, you saw that I cried. But lilies turn

When the bloodshed starts at the doorstep of solemn silence, give me a lone engagement with the invisible to unchain the split heart. I will take away the pain from home and come back in failing light when a star

Infant sees the light after staying in dark for 9 months in mothers womb Light dawns on birth and will continue through out life Light ceases after the death and has no role to play on the dead In between

Words go unspoken, more often than they should My love for you is real, but it is often misunderstood Sometimes I feel lost, like a ship that sails off course The stars have closed their eyes; I have lost my

The beams were ready to collide on the bars of hate. The blast was coming with adjectives. It was immortality of a street which was going to survive. New herons will come to wade in troubled waters. Pure white. But

One day as I was walking On a long and lonesome road, I saw an old dilapidated house Which once was someone’s abode. There as I knocked the front door It came as a big surprise, As an old man

She says: I can smell the fear of your incompetence I harness you, to make real my “creativity” Your sweat nourishes my creation As I milk your labour to polish my David. Your gnawing stomach, I feed with ideas Pickle

In a far away land, I used to call my own, There lives a King and a Queen whom people never disown. That’s why God give them a gift they call their son, A Prince that grew from a little

A fugitive chameleon sits on my window sill daily, ceding the space horizon to thickness of delusion; wants to decimate the infamous rotting image of man, shining everyday in lush damaging gossips. A perfect imperfection of treachery to attack the

Amidst of joyous merriment sitting lonesome in solitude Own shadow as company at a tether’s end fortitude With none of any inclination for any indulgence to ignite Reminiscing all times of yore with so much there to excite Am sure

I get up in the morning without ever bothering could I have got up at all I ride the Bike amidst chaotic traffic never ever thinking, could I ever ride again I grab all the junk food into my stomach

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

what is her fault? just ”being a girl”. Took her to the worst, left nothing to curse. No sense nor an idea, why and what is going on her. Calling out mom, wished hearts would really connected. considered her an

What dwells within the deepest, most utter, most core of one who laughs yet longs for truth and to be true to oneself with another human being…not hiding. But, it is being mentally, emotionally and spiritually naked. It’s frightening, perhaps

The most difficult job is self sacrifice Which soldiers always dare to portray Their patriotism help to suffice Enlightened in them like a ray They strive and struggle relentlessly They never opt to relax and stay They do not have

Too tired to sleep on in the morning, I wake up afraid of my own dreams, when the garbage truck arrives at my backdoor.Those men collecting everything with gloves, their tanned and hardened skin. They’re my stepbrothers because they feel

This heart’s a dog Beats for everyone who is false Always broken Remains stolen Sometimes sweeter when stolen It might grow holes Blood might start to pour It might not be ever whole Might never get out of the fog

It’s just a way of life said the man with the gun, you win it or you lose it when all’s said and done. But the odds and the favour can be tipped over here by a winning smile from

Of all things sentimental. She came through the door wearing a suit of armor. The door closed behind her with a rattle and tick of swaying arms. With rust around her eyes she longed to be melted down. A drop

A texture of flour coating her skin ashy, she’d say, her body shifting as if to rise but just as happy pressed gently into the bed my fingers spread across the cushion of her belly and tickling a glissando over

The curves of a dark alley hide the secret of long lost happiness. My mind meanders in the narrow paths and a gush of brackish water hits my face, chokes my thoughts. I hear the cries of memories drowned there

I wrote this piece for my angel from above, Source of inspiration, as she taught me about love. She is the most beautiful lady I’ve ever known, Every time I see into her eyes, my mind gets blown. I troubled

He returned empty hands. Death was casually running around on charred bodies. Was lank poetry of a ruthless god. The house was on fire after selling its children. The days were becoming longer than life. Casus belli, whom do you

Brought over in physical chains, treated like insects. The belief that one’s background, determines who he is and will be. Though times have passed, the chains remain. Not only for those who were brought in it, but all those who

Drinking frizzy drop of the sentimental smoke Absorbing rhythmic murmur of the dancing peacock Gradually and completely, I felt him in my beats Following that voice among thousands of tweets The shimmering, scarlet, feminine blood Rapidly flowing over the marble