Marginalized poems bring the best collection of short and long marginalized poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great marginalized rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these marginalized poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on marginalized are here for you.
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,
After many years of slavery we still end up being enslaved today After many years of exploitation We are still being exploited till today Oh! brother is revolution time is time to live in a real world stand up and
They can’t resist the Calligraphy, Like the Disney movies, all eyes & ears glued there, Yeah, they fathom the science behind it, But No! Listen to the hits they make, like boom! Can’t help but break dance, The comfort my!
It goes without saying; soon the cow barn will be full & men quite drunk, Women busy preparing to feed stomachs and give one of their own away, To who, doesn’t it matter? Old, too old or extremely old, a
Fallen from what was established, What was marginalized- Those Vedic norms have fallen apart And a gang rape is now an order, an order! A viral order, long ago planted in culture, By morons of male-feminine prowess, That has been
Into darkness we go Where the light cannot reach O’er hills and trees the shadow go Until we reach the edge of night Where the starry skies Go forever on into the night Beneath the stars, our lives we make
Perfection may never come Maybe it does not exist The most important thing in love Is knowing love exists . Pass time together No matter what you do Talk often and listen too Let the warmth shine through . Watch
Love is a strange thing indeed Some people die because of it Some people live because of it some people starve for it The people where I live definitely do Death is also a strange thing Some people just go
After a while, the world moves on. Bodies crumble like ancient statues, memories fade into the void of oblivion and time. We look at our lives closely, and see they are like winter snow. Every moment of our lives unique
Night before stood sentry on ice cracked edge of North Gawber pit above Willow Bank, known site for Frogbit, Whorled WaterMillfoil waters edge, and I in the dark contemplate ice in bone. Whorled Water Millfoil survives harshest icy blast, turions,
Facing the wrath of the blazing Sun, She, with her tangled hair, toothy smile, deeply lined face ; in a coarse cotton and battered bag, walks through the lofty gates of a mansion ; A fine blend of art, wealth
Watching as half my existence has passed And all that is left are memories, that on my brain have been cast The rest of my age will find strength in autumn and winter remembrance As I wander through the freshness
If one day I’m caught waltzing to bed with drunken imaginings of the gates of Heaven, gilded in virtuous hues of golden rays, allow me to stumble over the reindeer slippers I purposely left out in the open. I’ll know
Like the rain drops Falling from the sky They roll down my cheeks Unstoppable when they find Me with myself “A dear friend I am Never leaving by your side” They claim: in sorrow and pain In joy and lame
You, The Oceans of Beauties, Master of all treasures beautiful. Within moments you can make us laugh, Within no time,You can have us crying. Beautiful you are, the source of all beauty, Creator of everything that looks pretty. Beautiful landscapes
The nip in the air, the shying sun Was not long ago when it was fun Winter in Delhi with its November sun Making hearts flutter for almost everyone Misty evenings made mysterious still With heady fragrance of the saptparni
Silence they say speaks louder than words Do you really hear me? Not here, nor there, know not where But through silence, do you hear me? Memories tender that I hold so near some so dear though some not so
The heart a magnificent work of art, amazing in its design, if you follow it you will shine, cause it’s for much more than pumping blood it carries very real feeling of sympathy and love. It also has compassion in
When the hate began subordinating, where were you? O! My clothes were on fire. When you climbed the lips, words were livid on tongue: beyond the earth and sky, water and air, fire! You stutter? Speak not truth. I don’t
Grim, forbidding a streetfull of patients First we must distract them – that is the role Of the dance – our worn shoes and shopping carts Are ideal for the purpose, pure percussion Rolling rhythm we dance on a river
Each one of us has a story And one that should be shared Not one that’s strict and rigid Nor overly prepared But one that comes straight from the heart The journey you’ve been taking Of things you’ve done, the
The bones are brittle as are the thoughts they crumble events of yesterdays that never happened things that happened not remembered today becomes another time faces and events mingle become a crazy quilt He sits and stares unaware of a
The Giant Banyan Tree in the country-side, Bunches of thick ropes hanging downward, Full of dark green leaves.Bats hanging from, Its branches with open wings.This ancient Banyan Tree has seen many ups and downs. Our grandmother’s village is calm and
This night of the long vigil has betrayed my soul. Columns of smoke arise from the landscape of shrines. There is no need now, to sing the praise of oblique wars. Truth has made a big dent in my heart.
They’ve often asked if I was restricted by a religion, But “I just can’t eat” had always been my sermon. However, I was fascinated by how they made it And why their tongues galloped as they tasted. So I took
Do you long to be kissed like a wayward girl Full of passion, ardour, fire? Do you yearn for pushing, pouting lips To kindle more than desire? Of touching faces, skin on skin And breath a mingling swirl? Do you
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.