Awsaaf Ali

Rookie - 39 Points (27th August 1997 / Hyderabad, India.)

Death - Poem by Awsaaf Ali

Thy rose rots, ami'st my feet an' the door,
Pleading, the fragrance its to be sucketh an' bitter wine pour,
Blisters dropp'th from thy swirlin' shore,
Boun'less pain stabbeth me more,
Thy gift'd feather, thy ink pouch, leather,
Those symphonies maketh me smile, no more,
Beneath the cores de pumping meat, I solemnly adore,
Curious stem o' rotten rose whispereth,
Thy reminiscences under my chest crawleth,
Mysterious reas'n attracteth thy death.

Topic(s) of this poem: Death

Comments about Death by Awsaaf Ali

  • Shania K. Younce (3/24/2014 11:02:00 PM)

    I love the archaic words. Poetically, finely put. Bien! (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, March 20, 2014

Poem Edited: Thursday, March 20, 2014

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