Lost in the deserts of my own mind,
But they were cities built by my own hands,
How they were pulverized, reduced to dust,
I had once built cultures, comprehended life,
Fostered heroes and adopted the greats,
How can I be cast down from my own throne?
I had once created a concept of the divine,
My castles were adorned by my craft's masters,
Portraitures of words hung upon my walls,
Painting the blank canvas of my mind,
Populating its cities with ideas and idols,
Decorating its streets with poetry and words,
Laying tiers of bricks one upon the other,
Creating masonry of churches and temples,
Crafting entire cities from barren land,
Galaxies and constellations form particles.
Shocking is the dominating power of an idea,
Much like cancers and plagues,
Corrupting everything in its way,
Ruining everything in sight,
A hurricane tearing apart a bird's nest,
Destroying years of work in mere seconds,
Dismantling everything I had put together,
Beheading me on the guillotine of my own regrets.
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Comments about this poem (Regrets by Majed Sayegh )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
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