Flowers of dawn do not blossom at twilight,
One who isn't a poet at twenty, how he might
Be one at sixty, when his vision is marred
By the blemishes of life that he cannot discard.
Never wanted accolades as a promising poet,
But always marveled at the poems that would whet
My appetite for seeking beauty and the bounties
Of nature, and fill my heart with its endless charities.
When my mind is filled with unspoken emotion,
Words flock around just to give an expression
To the feelings, thoughts, dreams and desires,
As my poem forms with whatever that transpires.
Shy I am since my childhood, as shy also now,
Always avoided limelight in life, just anyhow,
Words of praise make me very uncomfortable,
Since I always look for a way just to be humble.
Praise me not, my dear poets and friends,
I know at this stage I cannot make amends
For not blossoming at right time, the dawn,
Weep not, mourn not, when I am silently gone.
This is awesome! Forgive me for praising, but it is a relatable peice.
That is really beautiful and so touching. The mirror of a very sensitive soul. There are, so very few in this upside down world of ours.that can touche with the magic of their words. You are one of the Chosen.
@The Princess Thank you so much for digging out this old poem of mine and reading it. I am honored and inspired by your comment.
@Amitava Sur, Thank you so much for reading this poem of mine and leaving your kind words there. I am really touched and inspired.
@Electric Lady, Thanks for reading my poem and leaving your comment here. I too, am inspired.
@Soulful Heart, Thank you so much for reading my poem and leaving your thoughtful words! Your generous appreciation has inspired me a lot.
@Carol Fleming Klein, Thank you so much for reading my poem and leaving your thoughtful comment there. I agree to all that you have said and greatly appreciate your taking time to share your thoughts with me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like this heartfelt and original poem. Question: is it ever too late to blossom into a poet? Late-sown seeds grow twice as fast to catch up the rest, and often flower more brightly!
So unfortunately, I missed this wonderful comment to reply to! No, methinks, it's never 'too late to blossom into a poet'. A poet cannot write a poem unless it 'comes' to him. And when it comes, it may come in lots and lots.