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Anonymous Rose Poems
Marches the winter, blows the breeze, Afar there, are smiling scented flowers, Raising blaze, buzzing bees; snow ceases. Chirping cuckoos, joyous walkers.
World of Illusion.
This world of illusion seems an abode of shadows, a tale of past. A transitory phase, or, a scattered dream. Short, as a wave over the other, surpassed.
In The Spider-Web.
Crossing the spheres of time and space, Ruined statures of destructed nations bewailed. Strayed in pleasures, vileness and malice. Vicious devil incarnates; arrogance prevailed.
It often relates to me in an incident, when an ant lost it's foremost part in an accident. It's anterior body was entirely smashed,
The oscillating life between months and years, Comes to a point where it started. Dwindling between smiles and tears,
In honor of my...
Thy magnanimity, my Lord! ! Granted a flowing river, when asked for a drop. My gratitude, for every breath; thy bestowal for every speck.
Standing on a quiet, barren land, thousands deceased, gloomy atmosphere, yet a sunflower bloomed. Veiled in grey and white surrounding, tanned. Meagre and affluent, all vanity statures doomed.
We all are Skeletons
A strange imagination, of a diverse creation lead my thoughts to anomalous direction. With minute differences, we all skeletons
Today's world, deprived of character, and devoid of honour, Proceeding towards decline, Haphazardly moving, not in a straight line.
The adrift flow of Life, Afloats in the only medium of Sea. Where flotillas and canoes strive, to survive. To reach the assigned mission of Thee.
The only medium to travel, The long journey of frazzle. To reach the finish line.
My worst enemy
I've found you, my enemy, So far, thou playest hide-and-seek. Often I caught thy shadow,
Sometimes, when I look around, I feel Things breathing, Comforter, bed, walls and the ground. The sight to imaginations is amazing.
Comments about Anonymous Rose
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Marches the winter, blows the breeze,
Afar there, are smiling scented flowers,
Raising blaze, buzzing bees; snow ceases.
Chirping cuckoos, joyous walkers.
Heavenly scene; spring is the emerging theme.