My time is rhyming away
In these rhymes of my lays
Into a deep silence theme
With no music of forever's
Of my heart or of my soul
In this times of wrinkles
I rest in rich sweet silence
On my old long white hair
With no cry of rolling tears
That had grown old with me
In these folds on my face
Many songs are folded in
To rest in peace with me
With no sign of their ashes
Even to unfold in my rhymes
In trembling hands of mine
Words are dancing in eyes
To fly away from the sight
Of my golden white bread
That rules virtue of my rhymes
The poet may grow old, but the poetry endures for generations to enjoy. Therefore, take no song or poem with you, but share them all. Lovely poem.
like Roses smell no doubt, but a scent of beauty lies.... in its wonderful design...perfected by time...your poem resemblance the perfume of the Heart.... i Love it...God bless...a 10 +++++
This reminds me of my present old age. A good attempt.
Blessed be the aged. The older the poet, the sweeter the rhyme; rhymes which shall not grow old with him.
Only the physical being grows old, the mind sharpens as time goes by, the heart hardens... becomes smart and confident, learned or soften....the pages written never fades beyond time...great!
As creative person poets never get old…wrinkled…hands may bar…thoughts and imaginations stay nimble… And you’ve portrayed that… Ms. Nivedita UK
the poem is quite deep and contains figuratives and it is really good... old poets are so skilled and they are important.... very important...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
really good, as aways :) you are very talented! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! (10)