A Buried Man
A half moon at its highest point.
His first winter at the graveyard; the grey sky falls into
bits of ice: he may envy the lights of the rings of houses.
Strangers now carry parts of his life; nothing stopped, no place
unfilled, affection diluted by absence as
the darkness waters the night.
Buses crawl round the empty streets.
From a distant bar the sound of glasses and laughter,
Leslie Philibert's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (A Buried Man by Leslie Philibert )
Did you read them?
- Through the down lane., Ruma Chaudhuri
- The Ladyton Spring, Dan Reynolds
- Bhumi, dr.k.g.balakrishnan kandangath
- Time Passes By..., Alvin Jenner
- Comments, Frank Avon
- Raining Hay, Julian Mann
- Belief on God, HARIOM RASTOGI
- Creativity, Tex T Sarnie
- Three Small Fancies, Ananta Madhavan
- Sips through lips, Aftab Alam
Poem of the Day
- 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- Being With You, Heather Burns
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
- Heather Burns
(1 January 1903 - 13 March 1976)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)