Who Shall Console The World Poem by abbas abubakar
Who Shall Console The World
Rising from my pant of infantry
I saw the crescent in a mien
That pour sadness in my bowl
I feel the wry in sun's cloth
And moping of the moon
From their lashes are ocean full
I walked to mountain tops
Breaking the burrows of my thought
I asked the little bird in mind
Why the tears in their bowl
Only a whisper tufted me
Telling me it was above
I looked up to the crying cloud
It said it was below
I looked down only to see demons claw
Then i twigged
That the world is a forest
Whose fruits are unripe
Despite centuries of moisten wind
Who shall console the world?
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4/26/2024 8:08:34 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Then i twigged That the world is a forest Whose fruits are unripe Despite centuries of moisten wind/// This four lines are excellent! ! ! ! a good poem! ! !