I wish I could play, but
I did that yesterday.
My dreams are no longer here.
Reality has come, holding hands with fear.
What is to come, if I continue to play.
With no regards to what I do today.
Life is no clown, shaping balloons.
She is a reaper, who often comes too soon.
What I do now, may not be too much,
but it should be better than tricks, and games and such.
Life is being built, if I just lay one brick
Let my dance with Death be my final trick.
Chaarzarul Rockett's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Dude, Really? by Chaarzarul Rockett )
- I Could Not Find My Way Free, Shalom Freedman
- Sailstarred, Sandsifting, Seaweed Script.., Saiom Shriver
- The art of love and affection!, Dr.V.K. Kanniappan
- Heaven with the Creator, Althea Marshall Wypyszczak
- Prison diary, Shikdar Waliuzzaman
- Mules, Saiom Shriver
- Abandoned Cocoon, Saiom Shriver
- I would cross, Ruma Chaudhuri
- Sometimes, Mark Webster
- Things of crumbs, DEEPAK KUMAR PATTANAYAK
Poem of the Day
- 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- 1914 V: The Soldier, Rupert Brooke
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
- Heather Burns
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)