Poetry... Poem by Guneev Kaur

That's when you express the grin,
In what I say; seriously min.
It's a conversation,
Primarily of the soul inside; to say an ethereal nation.
One with a voice,
To scribble upon; the best choice.

Likely a battle field,
With tons upon to grab the attention; to yield.
Wherein verses collate,
Sauntering alone; yet together stimulate.
Empowered together,
Proven ahead; ideally for a better.

This one is truly a game,
Where even those tiniest; called alphabets wanna gain the fame.
Polish might be ahead,
Yet it is customised; complicated thread.
There or here,
Medium is nowhere; but elsewhere.

Those Rockies and Andes,
Are fed with a name; never to fade.
Referal is even of that rat race,
Which follows and follows; jumping over the pace.
Great or defenestrated,
The stuff is much coherent; perforated.

Where your soul strikes,
Following; your mind abide.
The persona is way surreal,
Yet the ideology is sheerly real.
It always fervently takes your breath away,
For the aura's best known in the way.

Poetry is not an art,
It's you, your inner self on the crystal blank; my tribute to those brought forward this art for me to start.