You are climbing out of the seat of my body;
rising as a small loaf, a scrap of wonder.
Stamped in wax with my ugly mug and running.
Surprised you are broken glass, a bit of face
or a toast-dropper of a fear. You are weighed with
a ton of my own past, packaged and disguised, the
torn tape of a reel-to-reel, endless and twisted.
No shit Sherlock, children are from their parents;
But they don`t know that. Forgive me.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Autopoiesis by Leslie Philibert )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- I Need A Reason To Live Your Dream, Asma Riaz Khan
- tera didar wo, Yashvardhan Goel
- My bloody heart!, Vinaya Joseph
- Cobwebs, Liilia Talts Morrison
- Gifts of Aging, Liilia Talts Morrison
- You Will...! ! !, Asma Riaz Khan
- Anjani Si Shikayat, Yashvardhan Goel
- Police station, DEEPAK KUMAR PATTANAYAK
- dard sehkar bhi, Yashvardhan Goel
- Three Coins For Her Love, Pradip Chattopadhyay