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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Poems & Songs
- Published: 12/01/2018
Immature
Teen, M, from JAMSHEDPUR, IndiaI Tasted Your Love
From the cliffs of Southern alps,
I saw you rising as the sun.
From the plains of the West Indies,
I saw you smiling as the moon.
In the hearts of some men,
Where cruelty resides.
I saw you fall as compassion.
In the prison of mind
I saw your sacred light,
Rising as passion.
I heard your voice
In the chirping of birds.
I felt your presence
In the magic of words.
I smelled your fragrance
In the blooming flowers.
I tasted your love
In my healing scars.
You were there when there was none.
You will be there when I am done.
As The Night Sang By The Willow Tree
It was a calm night full of stars,
The clock had struck three.
I got off my bed,
To stare out...To feel free.
There was a masque of fireflies,
There were bats I could see.
There was a smiling moon overhead,
There was some buzz from the hive of bee.
From a distance came the hoot of an owl,
A faint hum made me think what it could be
I felt the warmth of the cool breeze…
As the night sang by the willow tree.
Half A Mile into The Sea
Half a mile into the sea I am,
longing...Is what I feel
I wonder what this longing is for…
Land? A loved one? Or just unfelt…
Grief.
All I see ahead is a vast unending sky,
Appearing to be an ocean of limitlessness in itself
With some clouds swimming like seahorses and
Others like gold fishes and eels.
Stacks guard my way as some fantastical sea guardian,
Standing at the gate of a long forsaken territory.
And here I am alone on my sail…
Direction less…
All I’ve is my longing,
And my memories form a perfect tomb for them
My Brown Skin
My brown skin and my beauty go hand-in-hand,
My race is the ruler of this sun-drenched land.
We walk, we crawl, we fight and we hop,
Corn and lettuce are our luxuriant crops.
My brown skin might make you judgemental,
But my brown race will always be gentle.
We’re a third world country,
We’re our own sentry.
I love my brown skin….
But here’s what I got to say,
My brown skin doesn’t defines me hey!
What else is a poetry?
Hold it... You say,
I ask…
How can one hold the ray…
Or the stream that dances down the hill,
Or the imagery of flying seagulls…
Emptiness of the heart that fill.
What else is a poetry?
I think while I write,
Emotions...Feelings…
Or a reflection?
An insight.
Immature(Ayush Kumar)
I Tasted Your Love
From the cliffs of Southern alps,
I saw you rising as the sun.
From the plains of the West Indies,
I saw you smiling as the moon.
In the hearts of some men,
Where cruelty resides.
I saw you fall as compassion.
In the prison of mind
I saw your sacred light,
Rising as passion.
I heard your voice
In the chirping of birds.
I felt your presence
In the magic of words.
I smelled your fragrance
In the blooming flowers.
I tasted your love
In my healing scars.
You were there when there was none.
You will be there when I am done.
As The Night Sang By The Willow Tree
It was a calm night full of stars,
The clock had struck three.
I got off my bed,
To stare out...To feel free.
There was a masque of fireflies,
There were bats I could see.
There was a smiling moon overhead,
There was some buzz from the hive of bee.
From a distance came the hoot of an owl,
A faint hum made me think what it could be
I felt the warmth of the cool breeze…
As the night sang by the willow tree.
Half A Mile into The Sea
Half a mile into the sea I am,
longing...Is what I feel
I wonder what this longing is for…
Land? A loved one? Or just unfelt…
Grief.
All I see ahead is a vast unending sky,
Appearing to be an ocean of limitlessness in itself
With some clouds swimming like seahorses and
Others like gold fishes and eels.
Stacks guard my way as some fantastical sea guardian,
Standing at the gate of a long forsaken territory.
And here I am alone on my sail…
Direction less…
All I’ve is my longing,
And my memories form a perfect tomb for them
My Brown Skin
My brown skin and my beauty go hand-in-hand,
My race is the ruler of this sun-drenched land.
We walk, we crawl, we fight and we hop,
Corn and lettuce are our luxuriant crops.
My brown skin might make you judgemental,
But my brown race will always be gentle.
We’re a third world country,
We’re our own sentry.
I love my brown skin….
But here’s what I got to say,
My brown skin doesn’t defines me hey!
What else is a poetry?
Hold it... You say,
I ask…
How can one hold the ray…
Or the stream that dances down the hill,
Or the imagery of flying seagulls…
Emptiness of the heart that fill.
What else is a poetry?
I think while I write,
Emotions...Feelings…
Or a reflection?
An insight.
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