The daily ritual
of something lost
almost costs us
our sanity.
Some screams in
our heads
could never be said
to be ruled
by the thought, passivity.
Loud banging about,
and sometimes a shout
of frustration will ring
round the room.
Nought can be found,
and unpleasing sounds
rebound with cold negativity.
Blast! Blast! Blast!
We've found it at last.
Sally Plumb
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Blast why? For Zest…shower dew cool…confusion is but fusion….lolol… thanks for sharing Ms. Nivedita UK 10/10