The New Robert Frost Poem by Anees Rahman

Aged twelve…. in eighth class,
Fingers spread to some words.
Tried to rhyme with honey,
And piled them one by one.
Can’t say this exactly,
But almost fifteen ones.

I was no Shakespeare nor one among them.
And within tiny imaginations,
Laid the bricks, the metals, the cement…so on
And built my Golden pillars, one by one.

Truly an underdog, for sure, I was,
Covered shy, my poems, with a blanket
And unfolded my teacher, what I hid…
'is this mockery or a crockery? ”

Hearing, the world stood still,
Chasing and haunting me,
Shattering infinite,
my small heart, piece by piece.

Red curtains, fell in front.
burning Golden pillars.
Losing all ambitions
to be a Robert frost.

years passed, eleven years.
He came into my dreams
whispered into my ears…….
“Oh my boy, Leave your past,
Suture your wounds,
And fill your heart.”

The sparrow flew in front,
And the new Frost arose,
my courage came again.
from Sahara's they came,
started writing again,
painting bricks, one by one
building Golden pillars,
being the Robert Frost..

©Anees Rahman