The dreams that were born in me
Were outstanding in the sense, they
Were more than insightful to see-through...
And me being the privileged one, had the
...
Sleep which was my escape door
To my trembling thoughts of recurrence
Had shut it against me …. On its own will.
I believe it has done that for my lethargic labor;
...
Where are my worst worries vested
And the incessant fears holed?
Anxiety arising of unknown angst
And curiosity at its cruel best
...
Where the song poesy is sung
There my tune ever will be hung.
Every of his, whose passion is poetry
Ever will be- mine a devotee.
...
Years been passed by, I now know the loss of my intellect; I had missed for not using my skills and the amount of work I would
...
Life is a happening of which
No measures can hinder the experiences.
It’s just nothing but a dream- as thee know….
And a reality in its knowing- as I do know.
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What’s this joyousness?
Surfing in my mind
Which I don’t believe in.
The exuberance of psyche
...
It's of a great immense pleasure
To be with thou poesy!
Wherein the deeper organs
Responds to the invisible senses
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As comes the morn
So comes the noon
Thus followed by the dark
Which in cyclic gets form (d)
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When I do speak of poetry…
The poet in me speaks; whilst it’s not me.
It’s his language his voice
...