Lamp poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of lamp poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on lamp are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
I can’t imagine the world without you my friend My dearest snow-hued table lamp My universe is literally pitch-black without your glow I really can’t bear to let you go Thank you for being my best mate for 11 years
Western clouds set the crimson tent for sun’s rest, Lonely eve pulls sighing curtain of losing day, Foggy stillness steals the last field green In hasty strides for another lonely night. Passing owl shrills noisy flap, Day’s last bird completes
The train has already departed, From the country that they call yesterday, Into the territories uncharted, Leaving behind the remains of the day. Leaving behind the sobbing hills and churches, And nurseries full of sighing, And forests of ashen pines
Remember that fairy tale we read together? The prince and princess wearing crowns stellar studded with the rarest of gems! I got similar ones made by my jeweler. But he said he’d have to use artificial colored stones I Compromised!
Of beauty, culture and history you are the perfect paradigm, As you resonate through our hearts like a gentle chime. It’s your birthday for the sixty fifth time, We belong to you, just as words do to a mime. Many
Rocky terrain of high mountains, The snow capped peaks ignite, The wanderlust in me; To break away from the drudgery, From the petty human loss; A caricature of intelligent race, Victim of different definitions of God, Blind to the color
There is another sky of brighter days where empty heart has its fill, where another beauty glimmers on the blades of grasses. Another sunshine shoots its arrows through the clouds of a new sky. never mind my faded dreams, never
If you want happiness take two big bags and come into the magical world of poets will take you to a poetic market where symphony is heard in buying and selling they sell magical dreams and rainbows buy back your
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
O sailor a voyage you know and know the nautical miles , ways of winds find your ways faraway land you discovered , treasure beneath and distant,precious stones,waterfalls and fountains , everday I lit a lamp and hope you discover
Rameshwaram it is, Where the intellect was born, Brilliance personified, Treasure of knowledge, Curiosity is space, Efforts are the missiles, Pride of India, A true son of the soil, Far from riches, Humble He was, Values and virtues, Deep within,
The street lamp validated it. I’m single, sui generis, without partner, lost entirely in self. East, up the street, no shadow cast. Turning this way and that a black specter, once sewn to my heel, deserted me. Under the lamp,
after turning on the front porch light they laid poison around the flowerstems at dusk got their bellies comfortable with the moist dark dirt the snails came as ships creating their own waves sailing out of their own shadows slow
I have been on this lane before, I have seen the disdain and more, I have known this dark alley These dark labyrinths, The stark deserted streets, I was that lonely lark Looming high upon the street, The street of
O, bemused mystery of wonder! You are the silver chain of fancy And evening mentor of joys high! And happy boon at noon Or midnight’s roaring void And wintery smile in moon? Or perennial source of ecstasy Or eternal source
Oh my kite, my beloved Kite, Soar up in the day and night, reaching the boundless height, let us merge with horizon & light! Oh my kite, my beloved Kite, swing and sway amongst the sun, chase the clouds and
I don’t belong to me, to you, to her, to him. Who are you, I ask myself again falling in love for a tender shoot, uncoiling under the debris of unfaithful corners? I was watching a small birdie hopping against
In mangled bodies and severed limbs, the blood gives up its claim. A twisted window blocks the landscape of silvered faces. Nobody talks with the moon. Night burns, the fat floats on the dead mouthings. Death has the foulest taste.
When I flew into a storm my words collided with thunder and stars fell on ashes of dead. I wanted to scream. Seeking a freeze on past.Future was stretching its arms. A calling.Erratic explosions? The ruins were becoming worthy of
Let’s paint these walls red, With the blood of our dead. Of the lost and wounded, the sad and depressed. Let’s paint that chair green, With the leaves of the trees. The trees cut down, every day, week, month, year.
Cannot stare coming on terror radar. Every night there was Celsius rise in deadpeace. The climate debt of a dark cloud was changing. What is going to happen, tell me blindfolded. We have a never or nothing attitude. The roads
Not necessarily a palatial edifice- it may not be a fifty or a hundred room structure, it may not come in a multiple layers of concrete steel columns or colonnades. It may not be architecturally beautiful like those in sub-urban
It happens every time when it rains in the backstreets you can feel through the rhythm of pending death the blood pulse in your ears an echo in a seashell your life staggering like a ballet dancer on a wire
Silently you went to disappear in blue – alone or unalone – I was watching a moth on the burning lamp in night way scrawled flat as death’s signature on the heap of broken wings, between space and time an
In a moonless winter night, Standing against a weathered wall, Below a lonely street lamp’s light, I watched, transfixed, Shades of life being mixed, On that dimly lit street, As if it were a canvas, On which my thoughts were
Many deaths I’ve to live In love, the twister That lifts me also splits me And slithers the creature Resident of my damned heart She’s expecting The galloping white horse I put on my lamp, hissing Against the mocking sun
Wanting more of you in the bed of moon, where present and past were disrobing. The bee stings, O my god, arrange the pure darkness of milk, hanging on persona of future. The yielding was painful, its blankness. You were