Incense poems bring the best collection of short and long incense poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great incense rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these incense poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on incense are here for you.
Tangled clues with sensuous sparring; the incense was rising from the blue moon. It was body’s integrity, a lender was demanding when lust had become prodigal. Behind the thin veil, red eyes stared unblinkingly at the portrait of a nude
I love.. The early sounds of dawn. The twitter of birds and the sound of Silence too – as calm and blissful peace they bring. I love.. Fresh jasmine flowers A walk on wet green grass The crimson in the sky with birds
I’ m kohl dark, darker than darkness, my skin, coarse and dirty, disturbs you. but you say dark is beautiful! you are “correct”! although I smile, it’s painful. And you get up and go the moment I sit next to
The ocean breeze blew through my hair On it, a hint of magnolias Or was that the incense you were burning At the altar of your daily prayer Filled my lungs with the dusks’ freshness The dance of the chimes
Known, nothing will be written about me In any poem, story or essay Known, will not receive any co-operation from Governments Any honest or dishonest award… Nobody will burn incense on the day of my death Except my wife! Nobody
The pebbled road beneath my feet feels fresh, The calluses account for the miles they have tread. The path contours my tiny feet, Running patter towards the country fair. Rushing into the mangrove, I feel the wet grass tickle my
In the quiet room, I was all alone. On the laptop screen, the onslaught of Primitive memories was making me cool. The lamps were not lighting the streets. While deleting the texts, I felt as if Some people were murmuring
The door closes behind me with a snap. My footsteps echo strangely on the street’s pavement. I feel the urge to go back. A pale sun is struggling hard to escape the cloud’s clutches. The smell of incense covers the
Time within the earth hour was lengthening. The other god was sleeping. Becoming was inviting the death while climbing. Frostbite amputates the memory. Ending without beginning, I was asking the seeker to stop searching the answers. The houses were burning
I need Any need to stitch an acid, bare designed, in endoplasm, when moon was walking like a full-breasted bride? The synthetic feat was neat and clinical, yet I want to turn back and talk about something which heals the
The promise of peace the fable of tranquility the desolate landscape of desert not even a single blade of grass no life, just cold come oh sweetheart of mine come oh angel of death and kiss my lips take away
Picture a diamond spinning against the dark, flinging back the brilliance of a sun. Move a little closer – you’ll be stunned how lakes and oceans flash, how ice-caps spark. Zoom in lower still and see the forests, so vibrant,
For the dream slaves the incense has become a moon for the alchemic effect of tear’s stain in erotic war. Ask a mooner, will he bring her to bed for a song to measure the cantus between flight of strings
Come!Come My soul traveler tired and weary Come, sit with me under this ancient tree. unburden and rest your journey’s over Come lie down under this spreading tree. Ah!you tell me you were too young and the days were short
They were fated to face that minor road mishap The vehicle got tripped due to use of sudden brake It was August 1997, when my parents traveled by that cab Ignoring evil Oman earlier, my father left home without shake
It is, first and last, my small kingdom. It has a ceiling closing off on me the gates of sun, stars and curses; it has walls ornamented by my dreams, and a mirror which sleeps whenever darkness passes by. At
As the tram runs on the rails, Weather bitten houses emerge telling tales, Revolutionaries’ urge for freedom, Idealism in poetry and fiction, Reminiscent of immortal singers, Dancers in their grace, Tears trickle down in claustrophobia; yearning for a home which
It rained all night. Heaving up the dawn immaculately, at my window the lake crashed on white sands. A lone tree smelt of mist and grief. A fury had submerged a road leading to a forgotten childhood. Knives and pins
THREE POEMS 1 NEW YEAR The dates on calendar question all my undone actions and memories that haunt or fade in nightly nakedness stumbling toward the next day’s sun without celebration at 65 January jeers my degenerating sex a still
I’m sorry, terrified, I truly fear snakes. To kill one, I don’t have what it takes, Its bite I’ve never had through my veins, But my fragile thoughts with horror it stains. Its hiss, more louder in my ear than
There, out there In the street corners On the sidewalks And hung, dangling Are dreams! Cute and adorable Hot, yet fishy Dazzling, but foxy There, too many In the exquisite malls Draped on elegant idols Bewitching every heart Enticing dreams!
Life is a simple play Don’t make it mysterious. All complicated words wrapped into one, Make a bunch of gawky efforts and simultaneous grief. Myriad mementos contemplating miseries, Do no less than to future, humiliation and bad welcoming. That’s what
A walk in the woods. Thunder in the distance. Lighting dancing, edging dark clouds. Soft rain thru the pines. Boughs dripping in the pond. Birds sounding bird talk. Many languages to be heard. Frogs in the pond announcing their attendance.
Shattered to pieces I walked past thousands of many, But she stood besides me whether my life was dark or sunny. I didn’t realise that she was the only one who held my hand, When the whole world called me
The shells have not spared the lush slopes. There will be no flora left till dusk. The rocks have blocked the path behind. Chimney-climb not possible. The river-side is being bombed incessantly! A few bullets last in my pockets. And
Amongst these thriving shadows, Those shades cimmerian, My aspirations turn to ashes. Multitudes of darkness, Ascend. My hope dying in it’s wake, This darkness assumes itself. In this perpetual mourning, This anguish, This butcher of souls, Slays. Unassailable ordeals, Absolve.
It is said, that suffering shows the truth. Only the sufferer discovers light of Being. Light contains seven colors. Yet I didn’t manage to catch the Rainbow. It is said, that suffering is, what is True. I know! I know!
In hours of desolation, rue and despair Helps nothing except a heartfelt prayer Incessant teardrops of guilt and shame Might from hell’s list remove my name As kneel I down to my Lord so clement My hands of their heinous
When I perchance, did glance upon your face, But on intent, have sought to hold your hand, I might, on private times, claim that embrace, And scout for site where caring lips would land; So long as eyes can see,
Souls leave no shadows And no more shades either For, they remain in those Moth eaten sepias as relics of Those we have loved once And killed many times over Souls leave holes only Wholesome holes; say some in mock
The longer I listen the longer it intrigues The very sound of my voice never disagrees The longer I walk the better my knees The very movement and vigour keeps me physically pleased The longer I concentrate the longer my
Broken,shattered and lost with loneliness deep in my roots I don’t wish for any spring because I am tired of humans. the people who were my blood, my friends have changed with time like weather and I am unable to