| By khanana,
on 25-09-2006 20:41
|
Views : 1092  |
Favoured : 62 |
Published in : , Poems |
Bubbles spurt to water ceilings,
Above a river’s bed,
Where fish roam freely.
Foam splays water sprays,
Bottom of the river’s slide,
Fresh waters joining a salty pond.
Innocent white fluff shields,
Those astounded by a pond’s might,
In leaving purity, found love,
Did the river water?
Did the child win? Or did she lose?
The battle of gaining freedom,
Where guns were loose?
Support, shall I the ones who die?
Only,
Or the last hope that saves,
Also,
Or the ones who control words,
Set amouth to change the world’s tunes?
In dusty sand feet step,
Under scorching suns, grounds kissed,
Marching forth for life,
For my home was killed.
Shall I speak or shall I rest,
By the brown grass dusty bed?
To wait, for what?
I can’t see!
To wait…
Allah, my tears, where are my tears?
To wait for misery to engulf me, becoming hard?
Rest is of the past,
Life speaks now,
Soul-breaths, precious new life,
Basked in hot light,
Plead with an innocent look and smile,
Save me from whoever they are.
Last update : 25-09-2006 20:41
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