The work of English,
Keeps away my childish,
Without any proper dish,
Not even a piece of dry fish.
Are my mates doing the same?
Oh! They are busy with game,
As if they are for it came,
Which would lead to a blame.
It’s impossible to compose,
When I am reluctant to propose,
Something with great purpose,
Forcing the failure to impose.
No, no, I should try,
Or else, Tutor will cry,
Making my lips dry,
Heart on a pan to fry.
Tik, tik, tik, , , it’s 12 morning,
But nothing is creeping,
And my heart is burning,
In a fear of something.
Yet, my head is empty,
Page is not pretty,
Rather it is dirty,
myself felt great pity.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Empty head by dechen lhamo )
- On Being Governed, Donald R Charon
- All are mine, gajanan mishra
- Our Air, Foster Teegarden
- I wear a sweater now, The Princess
- Morning Triku V, Steve Kittell
- To My Love, dr.k.g.balakrishnan kandangath
- Scrutinized As Being Abusive, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- Sting, Foster Teegarden
- Some Ghoul, Foster Teegarden
- the man of christmas, Faith Taylors
Poem of the Day
- 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love .., Pablo Neruda
- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
- Heather Burns
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)