With sweet poems For My Mom, Still A Stranger, The Little Girl, Accident and many others, This teen sensation stoops to conquer the poetry and the world! My words may sound pompous but truth her poetry picture perfect like Sachin's Cover Drive. She got the class, she got the style But she mass, ma ma Mass! Rated A1 + a big Treat! Read hear poetry,100% entertainment guarantee with lifetime warranty! Happy birth to her mom in the heaven! Says one Harindhar Reddy paisano and fellow poet from her country, India.
I like this poem ' Phases Of Moon', because it reminds me of my previous & future life. Hence, you can be the famous poet across the globe like me. I have been invited to India to recite my poems wouldn't you like to attend with me? Your correspondence will be highly appreciated. Have a nice day! Mr. Koena France Mokoena Country: South Africa
Aditi invited me to comment on her poem 'Thank You' but her poem after poem kept me reading and asking for more. Her innocent talent makes her write from an entirely novel perspective, very refreshing. Best wishes for a budding poetess!
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned out backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! - An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.-
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,-
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
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This is the most important poem, because it is about exposing the personal attributes, hence you should be proud of who you are...