Exam poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of exam poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on exam are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
The voices, unheard The image, unseen. The crevasse that separates The analysis from my mind. It can’t reach me, as I cannot reach it myself. But still I am told to reach For the goal that I cannot see. Before,
I tire of the feelings of dread That envelop my heart every day. The dread, and the hopelessness, That fuels this necessary evil of life. Analysis, thinking, computation, Makes my brain overheat Like an outdated machine under pressure. But still
Where thou are My creator and my god from the moment you knew I am never a second you unthought me my tantrums; you smiled my attitudes; you redirected you knew me better than me your love boundless selfless yet….
Today, streets shamelessly bathe, after they were piled by east winds, which were imported from West, North and South, since that news bulletin to which nobody gives mind. At the hall there is a red coat, a pink boot filled
Something ominous and undefined, illustrative and versatile. Something ambiguous, and something so subtle it hardly exists. Almost is all these things and more. It occupies life around its every corner. It is the grey between the blacks and whites, The
The angel of friendship rumoured of an affair with a demon; The legacy of beings of every Earth Lives through its connections. A tale of geese of the morning sky, Pose as a ‘V’, glorifying amity. Owing to misapprehension of
The only thing which restrain Our progress and does train Us to locate the farthest wain And show us how we are wane. Exams by force does restrain Our growth changes into inane. We found nobody to explain Why teachers
Freedom an aftermath of martyrdom,a mark of remembrance, A status of solace to be free from heartrending surveillance. But, Jasmine, the fallen pleasure on the road dust Stares at me with a plea to lift her tenderly, To save her
Preparation. Fear. Worry. An open door. A desk A pen An A4 booklet Noise Suddenly Sitting Quiet. A voice Instruction Begin. Reading Questions. White paper. Cryptic I can’t understand. Fear. Worry Panic Sweat SCREAM silently Tears Breakdown Closed Brain-death Failure
Quixotic life brings wonderful thinking In such wee hour of foggy winter night Sitting on the spacious balcony with rural setting Feeling the favour of native care. With drowsy eyes. It is not uncommon in recent Thou has started to
Our children…our youth, let’s talk to them and listen more. Outer behaviour is all, we try to cure There’s more behind, we need to explore. Let them cry, laugh and express, all they want to pour As caregivers and mentors,
A train that once shipped sugar, from field to port, rattled, slow as a slave ship, through Antiguan hills, with elderly Americans, old money, all pearl chokers and Pringle sweaters, filling the front seats of the open top carriage, and
What do you think a redemption of a clone will work in the galaxy of stars? The hope was drying and violence refuses to decline in the valley of flowers. Orphaned moon climbs up the hill to preside over the
Is it near the fringes of the metropolis Concrete, near the shapeless brink of muddy smell, near the unfringed openness where saltish waves begin to kiss? Can it be saved, since it is sadly snarled, crumpled, half-eaten by a warped
Is it springtime brewing gentle raindrops or autumn bringing sea-salt aroma or snowy whispers from a wintry mountain peak reluctant to prophesy those true prophecies during the middle age of the night, as if they may over-heal and crack my
Those days were at the pate of youth Friends murmured when we sat together. They were unaware of Our oath to be one forever. Our skins never met But only our eyes and hearts. For we have learned that Love
Something was not polite in signs. The smell of incarcerated bed of gods was floating down. A subdued shadow of black moon was climbing on the window. And each house had offered a son, to rage a war of retribution.
1 She is the tree green and wide abundantly dressed overflowing spreading her sleeves blesses all in her cool shade solitude teems with breezy songs I feel nearer God 2 That autumn tree from this window looks like a young
There is a picture on the wall, With some people hanging around Each smiling and laughing Enjoying and having the time of their lives Each wearing their own costumes, Each with their own colours Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Yellow, Green,
Now that my mother, father and siblings have passed. Yes passed, a dainty word saying, dead, gone, either up in the sky, or down in the ground. At last I have said the words, dead, died, death, leaving me bereft.
Something lies dead here. Something, that until yesterday Was the source of all Beauty, Whose warmth dimmed Every shadow of loss And sedated pain. What it was, I cannot say- Perhaps it was love, Or an idea or a belief
All by myself, Surrounded only by my thoughts, In my home, With no modern gadgets of communication, No WhatsApp, No Facebook, No mobile, No ‘virtual’ friends, Away from all, In the real world, With my animals and plants, With my
You are the fountainhead because when you speak, the river speaks and it delights us with its continuous whispers and it surprises us with its rapids: Acute, frequent, inherited from you You are the fountainhead Because you deliver the caresses