Strains stretching,
my neurotic spells,
and hate rendering,
whatsoever,
the humour burning to miser,
staring walls with design of ill.
Glottis to strangulate,
with hopeless utter,
and crying feebled to hoarse,
Like a bird to disapear in horizon
and desire longed to finish,
like candle thread,
another desert stands to cross along,
and feet to blister with hot sand,
storm is to blow his wistles,
like hiss of snake, .
and mine struggles are right but late,
I think sometime we do not want to accept realities of our present and want to stay in the past and keep scratching our old wounds. Its important to love your self nevertheless. Wish you happy days with positive thought process.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
like hiss of snake, . and mine struggles are right but late, ...it may be right but not late. everything has time to start and it may be late but bear a fruit i time.. beautiful theme....10