Mona Goldword

Mona Goldword Poems

But ready to be professional at the same time
I can play by words
And I can make the rhyme


it's free..
and feel glee..

my hand trembled at first when..
i held my pen..
i can't deny that i hesitated..
but then..

When the past started playing its anthem inside my mind
i could feel it back as if it was yesterday
and i felt that pain inside
when i realized that yesterday did pass away.

my heart feels,
that ur not the one i know
that i'm a boat but can't float
sinking in my own sorrow

I hate to talk about the end
And i know the world is not eternal
It's so beautiful to be loved
Though we can't be utopians.

When you had left me in vain..
and i looked for u again..

i had hope in God and i still,

Why! I always think about things..That make me feel bad.
That make me feel angry.
That make me feel sad! !

have you ever felt that you've eyes but can't see the truth? !
have you ever felt that you're in love but to the one you love..can't give a rose? !

have you ever felt that you've a tongue but can't tell the pain that you feel? !

what a bad world in here
i wish if it could disappear

and take hypocrites tongues with it.

live the life till it reaches its end,
for every era..make the love be the new trend..
with every sunrise a new day is born,
with every sunrise a new day with new dawn.

in the high sky there are angels,
they are guarding the earth,
they are guarding the sacreds..

behold him in the sky
among the stars
out of reach
so high

Mona Goldword Biography

i'm a young poetess, i'm 18 years old..i write poems not for fame but because i see that poetry is a message and poets are messengers to the world..)

The Best Poem Of Mona Goldword

A Poet's Mind

But ready to be professional at the same time
I can play by words
And I can make the rhyme
Too close to fiction but closer to fact
Can draw the attraction
And minds with my poems react...

Stammer before the crowd
Don't have the talent to declaim my words
But on sheets
My pens are like swords

You consider my words are curbed,
And my ink is not enough to create an eternal poem,
And that my mind would get disturbed,
When I see someone else's rhyme..

But actually,
And clearly
My motive is my heart
It's not me who moves my pen
But its beats which also made me write from the start

And I believe
With all the one behind my ribs..
And with the words between my lips
That poetry is a message
Not just a kind of art
Not just a drop of ink on paper to brag therewith
Nor for fame or money
It is priceless


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