Missile poems bring the best collection of short and long missile poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great missile rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these missile poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on missile are here for you.
He Ignited Minds of many, And gave them Wings of Fire, His life portrayed many a Turning Points, Having said this, Even I want to be a Kalam! Through his vision – India 2020 He aimed to Target 3 Billion,
You are not history, You are the victory. You were even not selected in air force, But you commanded all armed forces. You had a vision, You completed impossible mission. You are not only a guide, You are india’s pride.
Our freedom began with the historic words At the midnight when the world sleeps India will awake we did wake to freedom It’s now the sixty ninth year of freedom But what sort of freedom is this A handful of those
As a result of abundant endowment, A state in nature, ensured of security A stage of impasse had we reached, Below which a formidable breech, The means of effectiveness without, Our primitive tools of war betrayed. Despite the valour we
Fiendish and gruesome phantasmagoric denizens Dwell deep inside subterranean vault perform an evil dance Haunt psychic landscape with imaginary (yet realistic) Gargoyle visitations that cast a macabre trance Nocturnal unconscious invaders cavort and gallivant Disturb quiescent sleep with devilish and
you walk on wodden legs a lump in breast, though benign but kids are abducted from wombs; a road map is spread on the dirty mat for finding the missing link, while a solid-fuel missile was ready to be launched
A missile in the home, what they have done? You are on flames. A red smoke rises from bottomless hole. Memory slumps. A glow in pain washed cells, calls the mirror. Instead, grave diggers arrive. This was the manufactured truth
Ahead of pain, we did not cry; intimating of dreams, crowded; stranded on issues, reaching nowhere. Black, a weird hairdo, unfurls a moon in half-sleep. You can open the door without sound. The snake writhes under your feet. A traveler
What should you do when people bother you? not react? not notice? not speak? just endure????? It is easier said than done When they stare in your face When their auras are dark and they eat up your space When
At the cross-roads I stand I ask myself to answer my questions, My ever lingering past and my evanescent future, I stand at the cross roads looking at the beautiful sunset in anticipation of a beautiful sunrise. At the cross-roads
Stammering quarrel with classical fluidity, fails to measure the uncertainty. I was finding my rocks, that chunk of certainty in midstream, when you were not sailing with me. The wait, stirs high the separated pain. Boat capsizes on high sea,
Another one it seems has wilted to popular appeal, Ever first yet never last become victims of the boardroom deal, Sunshine blessed them youthful days when many a loyalist kneel, But still you didn’t refrain from catering to this radio
Our dawn falls with smile falling blind What constructed me, out soaring mine All the insecurities that you have shed Chained my glory in your empty dread I saw your imperfection and every flaw Still I could not resist, the
It was both a complicated and a simpler place and time A very noisy and sometimes uncivil place, but very little crime A place though legally dry, yet filled with moonshine and wine Where peace and freedom were purchased by
Life is all about trust, And using the right path to fulfill your lust. Life is all about giving your best, And training yourself so that you don’t rust. Life is all about setting your own principles and rules, And
Dried leaves flutter across retina Spring gusts pop stop move along crawl catch scurry scurry duck walk jump twirl hold lifted up and up flying returning Blur burned image receding winged body’s sudden arc up impossible to see details vibrating
I saw a mocking bird upon a tree, alone, chirping a tune the skill of imitation bore he as it sang amid the gloom. Children played in the fields adults conversed freely, but of the bird in the broken still
There are times when I wake up…. And I think “I could lay here forever”. Soaking up the sunlight pouring in through my window. Onto the white comforter of my bed. Wrapped in the warmth of flannel sheets. I can
There was no end to looking inside. I was crumbling. Unnamed homing in of anguish, not knowing me. The wasted questions of revival. A depleted dawn of a failed sun? A river war between two hills for a moon? Time
You there, strong-willed and so brave, smart and so kind. You there sitting and having a hard time, eyes holding back tears you’re afraid to let flow. Let them fall angel, let them all go. You’re not just a fighter
He had pulled in many springs but failed to find a heaven. Asked not to look away. In absences he tried to enter the wounds again. An aboriginal pain flies over my shoulder. A spiritual failure of mankind? Counting unctuously
In the cold unfamiliar air an unconditional future cries out. Without a word loving ears understand with a timeless instinctual wisdom. Patience and strength are quietly demanding an audience. Repetition gives small comforts to those who wait behind a transparent
Hardly does anything trespass through the intricate niches of delirium, A shout practically hovers around in oblivion and a morning yell is supposed to be suppressed in the enthusiastic turbulence of dark whirl Darker emotions have to be admitted and
Frantic screams leap from her A symphony of worship and bitter memories mingling lingering in her mind Pink skin kissed by the summer sun turns purple under her dress as she sleeps, dreaming of her nightmare, her love Drunk on
Like a bikini top two hills were rising in a spiral optics. Has an altruistic vision. A wildfire erupts between the thongs of dead. You have a mobile message not to praise the sunrise in the woods. I am watching
Children laughing when at play, bright sun rising to greet the day Sweet cream added in my morning coffee, horses munching hay A rusty nut that just breaks free, an ancient majestic noble tree Wind at my back true point
I was made in a community Where most seeked unity But hate flowed fluently Filled with Ghosts and dried blood stains! I was raised by the village, love wasn’t given mutually But financial balances created separation Anger left hearts vacant
I think about the soft velvety eyes, Wet in wait- Of a resolve of distance. Yonder do they stare at- Looking for the clouds the eyes love. Blue sky gazes down at him too, Benign and protective of his space.
Her arm was left out the window all night clamped at the pit which throbbed her heart hammering to do its job straining for the tiny capillaries going blue about the nail beds her arm flapped on the growing wind
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
My imagination sets sails on lotus leaves and paper boats; for I never ment to travel far. But to picture the little mermaid’s adventure along the foamy edge of oean’s floor! My imagination builds nests high up in tall trees.
I stay connected out of the body, with fireworks, to widen the relativity, to read the language of fear. Death of a tree was mourned by leaves in shadow. The dew lies awake crying. The town was disappearing without a