'A Poet's Bosom'-The Deepest Wound
It had been spit upon, crushed and kicked hard,
At times been mocked at by them, abused&barked;
It's nothing else but my insane, blindly modest heart
To which I myself have squeezed and pierced a knife so sharp,
That blood gushed out vigorously as though,
The hidden feelings froze while all its dirt had a powerful flow.
It was no new to me but a well-practiced art,
That I had oft been doing when the did depart.
Blessed they shall be who had hurt a poet's heart,
A heart full with grief, gloom and silence apart.
Had I not been a silent damsel,
I'd have yelled out, barked and screamed as shrill as hell;
But it's my silence that makes me bear,
Those 'Deep Sobbings of my heart which no one can hear'!
'I am poet weak in words,
A chick lacking in allure,
A dam as bad an eyesore,
A neglected piece of God's work,
Yet who stands firmly strong, patient and stubborn! '
Thursday, September 29, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: pain