Sisterhood poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of sisterhood poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on sisterhood are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Remember the season, When you and I become friends for a reason, Since then we’ve been together, In happiness and pain it doesn’t matter. We capture every split second, That’s how we reckon every memories after hand, The felicity that
There is a woman I love, I call her my sister We spent only two years, little time together Yet, as the time passed we grew closer On the first day in hostel, a late night conversation Soon turned into
Just not my day. When everyone else is making hay I sit at home and lay between threads with not much to say. I weave and weave colourful stories but stories they stay while I keep waiting for things to
There are times where I question my existence Times where my purpose on this earth is vague Times where I feel lonely and worthless Times where I feel like I haven’t achieved enough But every time I wake up, I
Wandering through the village orchard When the evening amber light is spread I could hear the music of nature When the breeze from nowhere intruded. The music band follows the breeze With a concert of the cricket shrill The pitter
This overwhelming emptiness: something to present allegorical, figuratively, which is not here. Vultures were coming back. A stimulating dialogue must start to release the hostages of unknown fears. The menacing fog was towering over statements. Everything was turning into coal
Mind cant mind its business It keep on dancing to its tunes It gets agitated at the slightest provocation It gets disturbed on losing money it gets agitated on not making money It weeps when others make money it feels
Love is a powerful thirst, The basic chemistry, Promoting feelings Of a survival instinct. It has many guises, With emotional variations, Intimacy of passion, In a deep bond. Often one-sided commitment, Always arriving unbidden, Without passion, a mere dedication, That
Who closes the curtain? Sometimes a crazy wind. Who is paths washes? Rain is often. Sometimes tears,my darling. Why extended the night? Why want to sleep? Tired hearts. Sometimes dreams brings our desire Questions ends when? Who knows? You don’t
another day I met her on the field… in my heart a passion wakes how many have fallen asleep only I have stayed awake to see the face of the sky drunken moon fugitive moon…………..clouds scattered a spider’s torn web,
Somewhere and somehow, how and where I don’t know. But from ‘twinkle twinkle little star’, to the melody’a thing of beauty is a joy forever’we grow up. The past 15 years can be compared to the life of the ‘Brook’.
This heart adores with feelings true and pure A lady love, so sweet, of classic mien, Discreet of ways, so subtle and demure, Yet keen to hear buds opening unseen; Or else, discern aspirations of dreams, Decipher codes in languages
There are millions of voices that are silenced From trafficking, slavery, and exploitation. Not just overseas, in third world countries, But right here in our very own nation. There are millions of tears that spill to the earth Of those
No message, No text, Useless tears! Deplorable feeling! Wish! I cared for you Adverse me, Abysmal time, Cruel you! Cruel replies! Broken me, Awful feeling, Angry you! Broken me! Wish! I knew your importance Anxious me, Strong you! Wish! I
A hand without fingers draws a self-portrait. Faceless, only eyes glaring like bucketfull of burning coals. Was it not enough to call ‘wolf’. The pain scorches the compound where the blood of innocent flowed because somebody was burning woods. The
Yes…I know …I know my steps are to end. Darkness awaits ’round yonder bend. Wrinkled and worn have I become, scarred and tempered beneath loyal sun. Neither gospel nor gun, a lantern to be, for the cosmic thicket now welcoming
December 25th /2013. My cherished woman, Without a face, Dwells in my books, And diaries, Without a stance; In my coffee cup, She swims And passes in my mirror, Without a trace; She wanders About In my veins, sings in
Hold me tightly as a creeper holds a tree, and adores, Kiss me time and again like a wave touches sea shore. Be with me forever as moon and earth stay together, Love me unconditionally as God loves all creatures.
Human bodies hang in air, thrive on light and air, bloom as crops of soil and water, still need tools to sustain here. All souls desire strength to sustain, to harvest crop, to build home. We get speed to roam
Falling asleep deeper and deeper reality fading within my slumber, clearer and clearer it would become the dream I’d dream. So in this reality now I’d be. So which is real the dream I’d dream or waking up from where
Old and lonely at life’s end Taking life as it comes many sunrise dry the dew that soaked the clothes many sunset I have seen Barren lands are now towns right before my eyes roads have sprung where vegetation thrive
I went for a walk at Monson Village today. A place in the woods where people lived in the 1700’s. Rock foundations were all that was left in each spot. Small signs marked the holes in the ground and describes
Gone are those days when We didn’t need to think about calories before eating. We didn’t have to plan everything in advance. We didn’t have to decide what to wear for a party. We didn’t have to check before speaking.
Like a moth inside the cocoon, Waiting to kiss the bright sun, Growing its wings in silence, Slowly losing its innocence. The girl next to me seems pretty, My talks to her sweet and witty, I learned a new word
We seldom recognise good qualities of fellow human , when alive We determines his stature by his negative streaks We put down him at the slightest opportunity We see only the devilish quality and not the Divine quality in him
There are some cracks in the pavement; there are some rules to ignore; there are some people you don’t understand and them you but you both know the score. There are fragments of amazement; there are policemen at the door;
The Singapore-schooled child Is bonsai-born to perfection; His hair doesn’t grow wild; His mind has no inflection. He is just the rare inquiline His islanded government ordered For in his rinsed head is recorded A rhyme: toe the line or
As the singularity draws near, I look on with trepidation. What lies beyond i do not know. A technological marvel some say, Nirvana it will be. Others say a dystopian future awaits. No one knows for sure! I think back