Massacre poems bring the best collection of short and long massacre poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great massacre rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these massacre poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on massacre are here for you.
Intended to violate the omnipresent, stillness unzips the inviolate – truth. You walk through a legend: To test the chastity you need to dip your hand in a very hot oil. A sleepless summer night descends on the hill violins
Untie the knot, patriarch, the broken kiss was intimidating. The backhoe picks up the devil, it was within you when you were casting stone at the fear. The pagan was covered with leaves raw and pailful; belief in a thought
Men have become immune to stress. Men have become resistant to mess. Who made you and me immune and resistant? It is the new world order don’t be so hesitant. A new world order where we play with bombs. Where
Your window was very small. Why did not you throw the dice? Walk away without a want? I had no courage to tell the lies, to hold the secrets of brave tears, which failed to live in red-bricked house. And
Born out of hate condemned to fear each other, the race lives, the race dies. The loser finds a quotient to dig a mass grave for innocent paeans. My stains were bigger than you. In no man’s land, a corpse
Violence !Bloodshed ! Massacre ! Hatred and callousness having its nasty play across the globe, inflicting myriad miseries on innocent people here and there, every now and then . And all these insane acts in the name of God !
It was a big trauma. Granary went overboard, my boat was torpedoed. No romance was left now. At the burial of the moon aliens were arriving. You do not want to call it a genocide. The massacre of millions, of
He did not want anything after the sex and death of a protagonist. Rebuffed and sliced through the body, the onus was left on toxic mix. He died in deprivation, in intensity of hunger and fluidity of thirst. The quartet
One’s existence was threatened by the overseeing iguana like crested disguise. Repressive, explosive eyes. You are trapped in words beneath bewitching smile. The ‘V’ sign for violence becomes more obvious. That hits you in face. The eastern wind is blowing.
The pleasure of anxiety being in its far remove a perpetual huntress Forwards, backwards at all moments present fully swift lithe arm holds a dagger ever changing form and mass one moment a broad baselard next a tight stilletto willy
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.
Strangers on the street stare at you in awe thinking to themselves that girl’s got everything; even the people closest to you are blind, blind to the storm brewing in your mind. Your best friend says your pretty without makeup.
Play up of the providence have tables since turned Pursuing little amiability notoriety always earned Intent though honorable forever daubed in doubt Apathy notwithstanding but spite be done without Conciliation given a shot all overtures got declined Setting right the
Voices that had welcomed the day with prayers of peace and enlightenment, froze, forever. discord of your lunacy bereaved your hearts of feeling the joy of those chants, those songs so you subdued them, with your guns but there will
What was that dream A colour so strange Never felt before Which neither keeps me awake Nor let me sleep Compelling me out of myself Each moment And I stand perplexed With a fractioned heart Restless, Entrapped, Behind those walls
The coming of a that to dismantle the comb, unstilling trees under tracer bullets swaying in embrace for moonmilk. The unzipped planktons in sea open their mouth to supermoon for a night dive in a green passion. Does it need
Folks say, one should engrave his name in the list of great people. But a voice inside me says, it’s fine to be good enough, to live a simple life. My parents expect me to become a millionaire and tour
Destiny maker: Where are you? In your own heart Inside of you….. Destiny maker: Who are you? I’m your own thought I am you….. Destiny maker How does it go? Plant your seed Watch it grow Do good deeds And,
The Fermi Paradox: Where is everyone? The Universe is nearly 14 billion years old say those in the know. Enough time to populate our galaxy they say! But is this really so? The elements in our bodies where created in
Her songs of love are just as what were known, None saw her eyes bespeak enthrallment felt Exuding from within as sparks have shown, That lent a warmth by which all cares can melt; As sensual marks her ways upon
A fire of passion Burns inside me Eyes twinkle in mischief Longing to explore The bond of unknown. Heart pounds within As the lost soul Awakens the love From pain to delight Of my lively self. The pulse of passion
“This day, such a beautiful day I am overwhelmed by the beauty of you Countless thoughts and a million emotions Such boundless pleasure, YOU are the reason I reminisce the moments When I hold you close and drown in your
The baker said, I want brown. Sin-steeped chocolate sauce, Caramel crusty and burnt, Cashew roasted to an infinite dark. The painter said, I want brown. Raw umber, tempered With a downy fawn and spiked With shots of bronze. The chef
I’ll impregnate the wind with sin he said, while frolicking a gentle and sterile composite. I am only man, and madness is who I am, for length and breadth of depth is almost equal to unjust concept , live and
How it is that – at shrine while saying prayers sex was on your mind? You hated the betrayal and emptiness of life. but still tuned to sweet indulgence. And then a sudden flash back slaps in your face, and
One unthinkably hostile debate started in a colosseum: a path to kill the clemency. A comatose truth was listening to lies. They were pointingly arguing about the nukes option to bring about the peace and prosperity on the strife torn
This is a poem of male roads. It starts with an ordinary road made up of daily traffic plus the occasional traveler impulsively joining the regulars. Unlike them he cannot calculate whether or not it is worth such risk. The
Sitting in a cushioned chair in his living room, absurdly comfortable, while he reads Georg Trakl’s late poems, the old man, himself a poet, drifts into a shallow sleep. He is alone in that place of Being, where desire and
I went into the jungle And what did I see? Bodies of soldiers, ours and theirs. I looked from the jungle And what did I see? Families of soldiers, ours and theirs. Standing at an airport Mom and dad waiting,