Poems on completion that talk about the sense of achievement and joy. This list of completion poems portrays soulful thoughts where poets are floating in the happiness of a job well done. Completion gives a meaning to life and opens avenues to new dreams. These poems are sure to remind you of your struggles and achievements.
Sitting on the bed your legs stretched, on your shoulder so lovingly you kept my head, holding my face with your palms you kissed me on my forehead, embracing me in your arms you kissed me on both my eyes,
Just because your turn has not come, Doesn’t mean there is no future. Even though everyday feels wearisome, You haven’t seen the bigger picture. Don’t compare your race with another, Everyone has a different finish. Switching tracks, shoes, trying to
The mother knows compassion and grants permission the father accepts responsibility and manifests reality the child is born and experiences god directly the adolescent unfortunately forgets its connection to the divine the teacher shares self-evident truths and growth occurs the
Dawn of the monsoons it was, Heaven was already proclaiming its aphorism, Seemed to me as if god was performing an act of chastism. With a cup of tea near the window pane, The past reeling in front of my
Ask Van Gogh why he painted; A lunatic left at his own devices His grey mind sucking colors from the world into a canvas. Each rub leading to liberation from the known world The thick paste transforming a canvas; Into
Hindsight of the past 3 years, Reveal the growth of a new face. The first instance of accidental “touch”- Perhaps Fate knocking on our doors. There onwards, The pages of my journal Were crusted with memoirs That stirred the soul.
Summer passed, winter arrived , Short steps turned into long strides , Insects prepare for hibernation, Serenic beauty is nature’s projection , Mother puts her child to sleep, South Africa just won cricket match with clean sweep , Bells ring
Love carries a natural gust. Always fulfils souls’ thirst. Sees nothing but completion, Brings forth, that is hidden. Oh! It does, it does… Love knows no limits. It exists beyond infinite. It obeys no rules. It never makes one a
Paper shredding,streaming down like a waterfall at the side. Flowers begin to appear from the spring line. Mountains rise up from beneath the surface, no water at the bottom which will quench the path inside. Foaming with the hotness of
We are broken pieces, Pieces of art, Sometimes joined At the odd cracks, Hoping for completion. Sometimes we are glued To a piece so intricately Carved, so well we gel An illusion to dwell, An illusion to live, Until that
Human relations are complex in nature Relationships may sway extremes from in separable to invisible It takes years to understand and feel comfortable with each other It takes a moment to destroy the love and faith that was built over
The growing insecurity , Increasing perplexity , The constant fear , With all those glares, The lost equilibrium ,of a balanced mind, Was it how this was destined? A bygone en-tropic side , With redundant mind , A Frivolous mannequin,
Poem Dedicated To My Father Late Moinuddin Hasan–An Ideal Teacher- BEFORE TEACHERS’ DAY Moinuddin was his name,eloquent, which means— One who is an aide to faith and for that weens He lost his father when only six months and mother,
The weeping of a mother The hard, cold face of a heartless father Poor little you, barely kicking inside Mama is about to throw you aside Let’s not blame mama, good beautiful mama Let’s blame papa, for his empty promises,
my father used to tell me that divorce was the process of losing one’s routine. 5:30 came and went without the sound of a familiar rattle from outside the door that came from my mothers keys. last night I got
Though I clearly see Paralleling traits, Corresponding facets Astonishingly quaint This complex, albeit moving, Prominent connection Holds a minute blemish Worthy of reflection. Contrast, yes there’s one, A distinction can be drawn, For you’re rarely right, While I’m never wrong!
Drowning in my blood the vampire had the lapse of consciousness. I embraced the night without moon. Why does it happen day in and day out? You allowed the blood sucking which was the choice for unanswering of unpleasent questions.
The ancient church all vintage stone and loved throughout the ages, was now more famous for something strange, and in all the local pages. A large sinkhole all filled with rocks and lots of other rubble, was on the grounds,
Strange thoughts give words a pain. A mountain unfolds a tunnel.He who carries a vase of ashes must enter the gate to plot a path for history.Ideas have turned into stones. A violence erupts in long winter night. Nobody understands
Since all it began and people learnt; Since man got his name And gained all those earthly fame- The same history has been repeated again and again- Both good and bad; both hard and rapt; The blood, the blood- sometimes
The man who mistook the money he made for time with his family the intimate touch of the edge of his desk as it dug into his butterfat belly when he slept every night embrace by his tooled leather belt
whispers… a shudder, to frolic in the dire ambiance a spiritual awakening a peace that passes all understanding the go between the comforter a heart saturated with truth in order to withstand the true test of time angelic premonition a
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
Love is like an aroma of flowers, Stimulating the senses, Waking the ravenous hunger, Of an insatiable thirst for, Unhurried passion. A love lies beneath, That’s a light from within, With glowing embers of passion, Hearts racing in unison, Emotions
Bemoan the fate as you will the emptiness would still eat you away futility of existence and facade of importance the glitter of attention and tears of oblivion loath of loneliness and fear of attention no one can feel you,
Both of them are running from Aesop’s days of simplicity stamina and diligence defeat contempt, insincerity. Then again in 1934 Disney shot them at running track Tortoise won as beauties failed to charm Love of life brought Rabbit’s ill- setback
Photographs are time machines to the past. Instant moments in time reflecting back to current eyes. A street scene of Boston is hung on my wall a moment sliced out of time from 1893. Trolley cars side by side waggling
A war has begun, not one of bullet nor bomb, precariously parsed over a landscape of a people, weaker than another, to whom the bomb might be enchanted cries of heavenly lord – gift from God! Level my home. A
I’m closing a chapter …a mere turning of pages you may call it. Pages read and again, mulled, cried and laughed over. Bookmarked for life and hopelessly remembered, they’ll stay safe. Ever too often there will be a pretty breeze