Awsaaf Ali

Rookie - 10 Points (27th August 1997 / Hyderabad, India.)

Death - Poem by Awsaaf Ali

Thy rose rots, ami'st my feet an' the door,
Pleading, the fragrance its to be sucketh an' bitter wine pour,
Blisters dropp'th from thy swirlin' shore,
Boun'less pain stabbeth me more,
Thy gift'd feather, thy ink pouch, leather,
Those symphonies maketh me smile, no more,
Beneath the cores de pumping meat, I solemnly adore,
Curious stem o' rotten rose whispereth,
Thy reminiscences under my chest crawleth,
Mysterious reas'n attracteth thy death.


Comments about Death by Awsaaf Ali

  • Rookie - 309 Points Shania K. Younce (3/24/2014 11:02:00 PM)

    I love the archaic words. Poetically, finely put. Bien! (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
Read all 1 comments »



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Thursday, March 20, 2014

Poem Edited: Thursday, March 20, 2014


[Hata Bildir]