My Payroll, Pulse And The Puncture Poem by nimal dunuhinga
My Payroll, Pulse And The Puncture
Oh! it's a sad tune as usual
When I touch these colored notes
The burning sensation what a pity?
My poor lungs try to fill happy air,
But always a puncture along this tiresome journey from a cruel thorn?
I am not a stripling to bear this stretch
And this tattered piece would break if you pull fast.
* The annoyed alarm clock wakes me up to fight with the life.
Very few people enjoy the sound of an alarm clock. Ironic since it serves a useful purpose. Good write, Nimal. Warm regards, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/29/2026 2:04:20 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
Your share the angst of your age with remarkable verbal agility, Nimal. Another creative gem. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥