Skip to main content

AT A DUSKY ROAD :: Mirror Acrostic poem

{ This is the toughest poetic form, I have ever encountered. The rule is to write a poem where 1st and last letters of each line should read the title of the poem. To make it more challanging I kept my lines limited to ten syllables, though the last line is of seventeen syllables. I am glad that I finally managed to write a meaningful poem in this form.}




A sky, that had been spreading blue aura,
Turned violet, then black, darkness was at best.
Again thou wrote poems, thou sat with a cup of tea
Driving thy mind cart in a land, dusk clad.
Utopia of thy dreams amazed thou,
Slowly nudged thy eyes into deepest thoughts.
Knots of long strings of thoughts unfurled that dusk.
You saw gone days flashing, thy yesterday.
Ringing in thy ears, thy pasts sang a choir.
On and on thou inked thy thoughts, thy pains too.
And then thou felt the delight of nostalgia.
Dusk became night... Road of mind ended... Many words left uninked...unsaid.




www.Hypersmash.com
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Trystic

Ages of sombre slumber Preserves thy soul not From the sabre o' desire "Far from the folk they meet in the dusk of a shrewd spring glorying in tales of lust trystic ballads they sing " Divine inert eternity rewards thou not warmth of profane audacity " Their willowy hands are wrapped A tale of nails and lips Those softest unkempt grass Serve for the trystic sleeps " O' poet, pretend not and sing Of this tryst of springs Of those small profane things " ... Narrow eyes of heavens then flash Fear grips like a venomous sting promising return they part still trystic ballads they sing... " When those springs are gone On our tryst's doom A sombre monsoon's dusk, some profane buds then bloom... NOTES: In this poem first, third and fifth verses are related to each other and second, forth and sixth ones are related to each other. The last verse is a standalone one. First group of verses convey my thoughts on the imagery that is described through...
1 comment
Read more

Another incomplete Painting

Post a Comment
Read more

The Pantomimist

He never said a word where None would suffice. And really Words were luxuries, wrongfully Labeled as necessities Freedom who, freedom where Freedom when, he couldn't go Home, which home was it really !! He didn't say, he smiled sad This is your place, this is where You belong, they always said He never used words, he never Raised his voice, he only smiled sad Borders and limits and words Languages, cultures,  Nations Religions, loyalties and societies Freedom from whom ? Freedom when ? The home was long lost among Those borders drawn and the earth Divided, for whom ?? His earth, his love His birthright. He never said a word. Kisses were perversely preferable than wars He made love to the earth in a very profane way Across the borders of the living and the dead Though he got murdered, did the pantomimist die !!!
Post a Comment
Read more