Subjectivity poems bring the best collection of short and long subjectivity poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great subjectivity rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these subjectivity poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on subjectivity are here for you.
Epochs// (1) Sometimes, time does interchange. But my grandma, who’d moved from her poor house to live inside my skull, is still throwing seven stones at the cellular phone, wakes me up each time a light emerges from the end
My beloved I always remember Once my soul Had taken a ride On a marital-bliss river Jubilant nothing or no one Could put us asunder. But after I learnt You have sown mistrust On the fertile ground Of my heart
Did you know that Never knew none To know what’s what Poem let be done. Primitive the people Of the early days So is religion Founded yesterday. Media is a set-up Government is a fraud Churches, pure business Well-played, applaud.
A silence speaks up at ungreen age for an unknown, finding dark matter in hiddenness of sleazy light. A dove in the valley of tulips stops a flight for a wayfarer. What was that persisists, in envioronment and bunkers? Queen
Drip drop rain drumming on the ground, With scented smell from the soil and appealing sound. Sprouts the sensation of love in the core of heart, Deepens the feeling of solitude, as she is apart. Floating black clouds with flickering
Blessed by a firm, wealthy and loving family You went through trials, hardships and burden… You married young hoping for happiness… You yearned for love and faith… You didn’t trouble anyone… You did them all alone… Faith was what you
Have written a million words still there is want for more, have wandered a thousand miles still no destiny in sight. Each day pegs a new hope some of it denial, some of it pure hope, struggle to keep my
It’s Spring! How true that love like buds could bloom? This heart yearns for some tenderness and care So much to hope such magic can resume, There’s none to pose a greater risk to bear; Will now Persephone remember me,
when another (anointed as lady lucky) resident renter bequeathed her bed prior to that good samaritan deed thyself and spouse slept on the floor like dogs dead tired from another day acclimatizing ourselves, especially when tummies got well fed and
Against the wind A raging sea Crashes splashes Wild and free The blazing sun Rays beat down Casting glares Absent of sound A wooden board Barely afloat Teeter totters Upon the waters A plunging sky Our alibi My fair weather
Someone asked me, what happiness is, can you define? I smiled and politely said, it differs from person to person, who am I to redefine? Being happy is a matter of choice, It is mere listening to one’s inner voice!
She shakes it, spreading the exuberance, gushing out of its folds ’n Crevices of long-ago, like a perennial stream of jubilant euphoria- Converting matter into emotions, from the tangible to the intangible, Embodying an idyllic confluence around, fervently fluttering to
The dew, now a honey gold, slipped between the blades of lush, The cleansing dawn, The morning hush, The clearing of sky, The fleeting rush. With a twinkle in my eye, And dreams unborn, I rose to the awakening, Of
Good What is good to a forbidden fruit? Get on your knees Repent tonight Cleanse your sins Say you’re right Forget what you did wrong Say you’re a saint An upright Christian, but that seems faint A harsh hypocrite That’s
I used to run far from reading, School didn’t dispel that feeling. Until your words worked open that door Hogwarts, I could never have explored. Your words were already read by them all I was curious but careless most of
Writing on my sleeves, I visualize an invisible coupling of grassroots with starless sky, when I walk on the wailing earth. Hails big as sparrow eggs smash the bougainvillea blossoms. The wrestling clouds begin a storm. Witchcraft of the moon
And painted so Although I am instead Just red Around the corners of my nose Where the nostrils bend inwards Towards the life giving mucus To germs and what not I am also Black with dirt Under my otherwise Surgically
Angelic, able-bodied and adventurous amateurs aimed awkwardly at associates after attempting another assassination. Beleaguered, beaten and broken beasts barely breathing; bathed in beautiful basins. Begging became boasting beyond borders and busty brides blushed before being bought by bashful brutes. Camps
Brain Born Perverts : The denial of earthly existence ! Does The Existence sustain? Beguile compels to distort , And infuses the fickle fake plots . The dignity of faith and the formidable stature Are plundered by time winged lockouts.
“And this, for the most beautiful lady in the world” taking the rose out of his pocket, he said. Her eyes kept staring at him in amusement. and those eyes o hers, already left him rapt. “Will you be my
Friends and good books, Worth keeping always, No matter how one looks. Books offer an insight, To one’s life. Friends pick you up, Give wings to your flight. Books light the intellect, Friends too make your life perfect. With books you are
I learned to hold all my feelings inside until late at night. I covered my mouth with my hands so that no one could hear my tears. I perfected my fake smile. Today, after so many days, painfully enough, but
“Who thinks tempests dance too quickly?” Asked the Master, moustache thickly Brimming, bristling with indignation, “Consign the lepers to damnation! None may tarry here who can’t Wield a terror so puissant That all the diseased vermin flee In the dread
Sunsets have oft been just sunsets to me, Till we saw them as your hands clasp to mine, And thereafter all skies we ever see, Sunset or no sunset, became all fine; How like sunset is, to the falling tide,
She was standing there, all arms around her, wet face, silky hair, everything pure. Never letting go. Birds in the open blue flying in all different directions, screeching and screaming, whistling and flapping, white noise. Beating hearts with tiny limb
My heart is starving, My lips are famished, My arms are cold, My strength is half of it. My mind races, My restless eyes close, My reasons to reason, Grow stale and fold. When you go I always pine, The
Clouds thundered, rained and gone We wept together for our very own They were lamenting- for loss of ours Of orphans, helpless and old home The way my old man served the world Healed and helped, all is shown Love
(as imagined by this lumpenproletariat) When no bigger then innocuous, ho hum, happy go lucky generic black whole sonny and cher full pinhead size zit, thine pluperfect promising mysterious seat of pants whodunnit wordlessly wise wedded waywardness writ partly apportioned,
A poem dedicated to john Lennon on his birthday: 9th of October Birthday and rebirth Celebrate it forever Dwellers of mother earth A newborn’s first cry That no one can deny John Lennon’s expression Correcting every mission No other year
Photo by Nad Renrel Desiring urges of the forbidden rule It’s almost irresistible How much I want to caress his face To kiss his lips softly passionately So hard to hide the desire inside I want to move closer Touch
I gazed upon the northern star, Fixed with no intention of moving. I then turned and fixed my eyes, Upon the ice-set stone face, Which rather glowed with wisdom instead of wickedness. “Your time has come”, his voice deep and