Identitiy poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of identitiy poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on identitiy are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
The biggest discredit to one’s own self is to not be ‘ yourself ’. To strive to be like someone is the biggest injustice, ever done. To be your own biggest critic. To judge with an impossible yardstick. To never
I can’t stop writing when I think of you You are morning’s cold water splash You are the shower of rain from hanging clouds You are favourite song on my lips You are the dream keeps me awake every night
I was on the road to revolution; when I met- The childless mother beating her chest in sorrow, the widow shredding tears of solitude, The motherless child crying for company, the father who had lost his son… For the road
I lay here collecting my thoughts My heart is hurt beyond lost Various moments I feel so alone Although I’m grown my pain deeply desires a home. Look pass my flaws, we all make unhealthy decisions God knows I gave
Death is so painful. When you lose someone you love it is so painful. The longing to see them once again is almost unbearable. Their memory will never be forgotten. Their loss can make you feel so rotten. You have
Waiting under the opaque moon a primeval instinct takes over you and you start arriving. A black bone renders the ash on your forehead and you complete the circle – reaching childhood; you start climbing the ladder, for instantaneous release.
Etched on my mind is a maudlin Of the times when sky was blue And the sun was bright, high noon. Shadows were weird and creepy but Shades held the wayfarer’s blues. Water meadows were wide spread And herds fill
The path disappears under the foot. Gently I lay down the book and start reading the blank page. Stainless thoughts.I strip to root. A stunning revelation about a tinned dialogue. Blue hydrangeas were telling something. It was time to become
Swallowed in a dream of bliss, and sunset berry kisses in the still of azure skies I gaze into your eyes. Your lips, like honey exude streams of sweetness as a dream lover’s dream I find you resistless. Soft whispers
As soon as upon the east, the Sun appeared The darkness out of fear slowly disappeared The Sun immediately commenced the invasion To conquer the skies and complete the mission Annihilating the stars which were apart The sun added each
Oh, silky silver moon, come down to earth, Keenly, since long I have been looking forth. We will have sweet talk by sitting closer, Forgetting all hesitation and fear. Like you, I remain wakeful in night as stars, Waiting for
One time above a little shop, An old greengrocer climbed on top, Despite himself he could not stop, The world had changed forever. The fruit of that old grocers loins, Became obsessed with notes and coins, She knew the club
In love I learned a thousand ways to comfort this world, smiled and hugged blew kisses so warm , built inn and held caravan so long , brew tea, wrote words alive played music as every fibre of my being
Evergreens iced at river’s frozen brim December’s breath stills the burdened limb Powdered boughs winter in floral dream Recalling sweet temperate summer’s stream Where nymphs dimpled warm aqueous skin How frigid the vein now that wears stone thin But beneath
Auburn love walked bowed legs XCII years…mountain highs-valley lows, bus routes to homes of the white affluent, scrubbing dirty mosaic tiles, shadowed by stale late night celebrations of new deals… our raw deal. Auburn love walked bowed legs XCII years…Daddy’s
The lubricant of all human interactions Calming the storm brewing in my teacup Hurling me out of the dangerous explosions That will tear me into a million little shards “Excuse me, what did you say?” Is the caution phrase Something
A green smoke was rising to ferret out the elusive pain without body. I went in search of fidgety words to patch up the conflicts of flesh. Bold as Passiflora, Crucifixion was complete. Today a gift of obeyance will arrive.
Mano a mano taut our mutually limp and gnarled fingers bony hooks draped with blotched flesh – varicose veined, decubitus descent, and aged arthritic anatomy like a scorched oxbow lake cruelly desiccating topography! * * * * * * *
You walk on burning embers like a black stone to meet the end before beginning on empty landscape. What was the need to cross a saviour? Death had the wedding anniversary in a garden – full of blessings for the
Hoisting the bisexuality on a figurine, I crawl back to anxiety. The primitive instinct was taking over the stitches on a snake. What do you want from a moon for the drooling mouth of a seashell? Braiding the breasts against
Yesterday I took a trip, I flew across the stars and galaxies and landed on a planet just like ours- Felt the waves wash me as I woke up, Sunshine and bright happy clouds – Grassy pastures, Tall trees swaying
“The thunder did flash and the rain did fall, The wind too stirred up and started to creep and crawl. The sky turned dark and the lightening tore through, On and on it rumbled, a sinister grey the skies grew.
Poetry is not an intelligent Arrangement of words or rhymes But an articulation of heart An articulation of emotion An articulation of the subtle feelings That can never be expressed by a prose Poetry is associated with more heart Than
Tattered clothes that were barely there Her tortured soul was threadbare too. She mirrored our impotent helplessness In the face of destiny’s dire performance As we watched her bizarre life played out. Every time I saw her writhe and squirm,
Angelic, able-bodied and adventurous amateurs aimed awkwardly at associates after attempting another assassination. Beleaguered, beaten and broken beasts barely breathing; bathed in beautiful basins. Begging became boasting beyond borders and busty brides blushed before being bought by bashful brutes. Camps
Music lost, recovered, lost Love lost, recovered, lost Poetry lost, lost, lost even if found Lost in words, words in loss, lost voice Lost embittered passion, seething with lost memories Alzheimer’s child, poetry’s kind upbringing Parentage questioned, orphan of regrets
Tryst with enemy bakes the earth. I am standing firm on dust of times with rising threat. In vloaks, under the fading moon they had come, plundered my yard of truth and blackened the face of an ancient statue of
Isn’t this a wonderful planet we call Earth, with conflicting ways of how she was given birth? In The Holy Bible it’s by God’s Hands how everything thing was formed, even man. But science well, they have a different story,