Treasure Island

indira babbellapati

(visakhapatnam, india)

From the Journal of an Unknown Woman: 1

What could be
The length of this
Lonely furrow, I ask
Of you my friend

How long do I
Plough this fallow
That gets repeatedly
Inundated leaving slush?

Where roses don't bud
Where seed doesn't sprout
There my tent is pitched
There I will breathe my last

Submitted: Saturday, June 15, 2013
Edited: Saturday, June 15, 2013

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Comments about this poem (From the Journal of an Unknown Woman: 1 by indira babbellapati )

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  • Shahzia Batool (6/17/2013 10:40:00 AM)

    Generally speaking poetry is a context-based phenomenon in the field of art, but on the other hand it is open to the interpretation according to the reader's own understanding, i think this poem is about the struggling life of a woman till the last moment of her life, the last lines are marked for many things

    Where roses don't bud
    Where seed doesn't sprout
    There my tent is pitched
    There I will breathe my last (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »

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