Survivor poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of survivor poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on survivor are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Old hawk swoops down on a tree, waits for a drama to enact soon. First sun makes a wake-up call, small insects flock in green field, they dance and sing and have breakfasts. Tiger-bug is hungry too. He arrives, gets
The sound of bugles dins louder at last, The cavalry must be approaching near, Thank God that here, no more did cannons blast, When seen from yonder banks as smoke would clear; And not a stir from all the dead
Two stars partially shrouded with clouds, Standing in the terrace to behold the glimmering horizon, That was Sikkim. Days after the torrential rain, And death People’s bodies were beneath the debris, And trees Be it heat or frigid, poorer dies.
Beyond a world of chocolates and close bonds is a crossover to strength, screams, shoves, and worn out shoe plates.. strength to part with my system and garner the legitimacy to be counted as a survivor seems possible at every
Life….This is not a fairy tale that we all dream of, fantasize or speculate it to be. Nobody promises us that, not even God. Life is an amalgamation, of those really fantastic, fanciful, sometimes phenomenal, remarkably awesome days and of
I wish often, to be a free bird, And swoop along the far-flung skies, Flying high, cruising the worlds, Lavish with engaging exotic aria. Could I be perchance, that first rain, That creates emotions, so light, The earth enjoying the
Sitting on the lap of a moonbeam transcript of a gender plays with the gun. Manhood was at stake I will meet you in a cauldron. I was arrested in the house, was moving from planet to planet. Cavernous words
Unfolding the lust, do not ask for the olden love. The crowd has hijacked the halo of spotted survivor. A fish swims in your eyes. Trembling like a love song, while pulling the bucket out of a well of tears,
The hurt begins to move and meets in a funeral procession. For aging fireworks this was the last chance, but lake had dried up. There was no fall tonight of the moon All the stars had gone for a memorial
Looking at remnants of the mirth that fled, This survivor riles at the trysting field Where once lovers bask in the joys they spread, Now forever lost, to forever yield; What with the cold winds blowing crisp and cold, No
She gave us life. She will be someone’s wife. She is a girlfriend and someone’s best friend. She is a sister and a survivor to the end. When you struggle she pull you through and help you again. All of
Sometimes horizon roams with moon I pluck the stars night drizzles from the dark clouds. A shadow falls on the door without struggle or rumor I know he has come, my guest the survivor of genocide. He has come a
Let us go then, you and I… Let us go then… Tired? Surprisingly, we have been saying this a hundred years. It haunts. The hallucination continues. No, it leap-frogs. Eliot was dead before I was born, before we were born.
Find something you’re passionate about and let it consume you. Do not run from it. Let it keep you awake for 48 hours at a time. And while you’re running on zero sleep, create the next wonder of the world.
A strange calm on his face A faint recollection of past No urge to change anything No feeling to fight it all No emotions whatsoever Just an eternal calm Knowing that nothing matters Knowing what went wrong Knowing that he
As I say goodnight, I remember before I sleep, Those good times we spent, so intense and so deep, Brings pain to know that it’s all over now, There’s no us anymore and I ask myself how, You changed the
In rain washed night, When every thing is out of sight Because of hazy rainy splash seething the earth with drenched lash. Water gushes from lane to lane As if his filled glass has broken on plain And trickles on
During the war, while the men were away killing Germans my grandmother played in goal for a ladies football team. They won the cup, she got a medal, had her picture in the paper, and, according to my father, she
Sometimes, what you find in a study can only be expressed in the way that you walk it out. Occasionally, one can attempt to explain in words what his recent studies have revealed. Many things that we have already learned
The heritage. Storm of violence in our chromosomes: perverts the senses. Spooky fear of burnt houses, broken limbs, utterly committing as witness of silent unbuilding, as the future defies the stunt of withdrawl. Not for tomorrow, the mother weeps for
Brothers are sleeping on the battlefield so gently.. Brothers are sleeping as if they will never wake, They are dreaming of a world where they will have no reason to fight again… Can you see? there the pilgrims are passing
Spinning someplace in the blackness of space, A peculiar world hosts an unhuman race. Rethink reality, abandon earthly notions; Here, cerulean seas – There, prismatic oceans. Macro quantum motion; Instantaneous locomotion – No need for roads, Teleport to go; No
It wasn’t that she was weak-willed She was just jaded of being stout-hearted Blue of breathing on aspirations Blue of breathing on unreal affirmations Emptiness inside her Makes her feel so forlorn The only question is – If pain demands
A string of colours attached together What a captivating and lovely sight To those eyes who see them as blissful oceans rivers and seas But not to those eyes who know the truth As the truth is not always the
unhinged i wake tying ribbon around the tree of amnesia, the butterfly startles, despairs the blue of humility, all i wanted was the silence of ceremony to greet the prosperity of death in valley of graves, the hungry hyenas appreciating
Shuuuuuuush! And listen! Listen carefully, To the rebirth of emotions strengthening bonds Bonds disguised in ignorance Listen, to the birth of revolutionary ideas which mother creativity Creativity which sprinkles glitter ❇ to this earth inform of epic art, soul touching
Prevaricated Forth Write Declaration! As most every girl and boy taught back in the day, or more recently going to Zerns, a golden age of story telling, when rapt listening ears willingly leant eager attention to a riveting speaker such