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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Poems & Songs
- Published: 12/29/2018
Heartfelt
Born 2000, M, from JAMSHEDPUR, IndiaThe Smile Of Motherhood
The warmth of her arms,
And the gentle kiss…
That made the sleep…
A sigh of relief ,
And dreams?
A sweet feast…
For those gentle eyes.
And then it breaks…
That smile…
The smile of motherhood,
A smile that manifests,
A carefree girl into a responsible woman.
A smile that is so much more…
Than the embrace that,
Cushions the child’s head gently on her shoulder,
And her cheek that rests upon...
The child’s back.
Beauty, Love And The Admirer
Everything has beauty,
But no one to admire,
Even the roughest stone,
And the most unworthy desire.
Beauty is a power,
With sword of smile.
Admiration is an assertion,
And ignorance… just vile.
Beauty is a light within,
Nothing to do with body or face.
If one can admire
it remains...
Like a memory...Like a trace.
Beauty is a word for love,
But not love it is.
Love is something more than beauty
And yet…
Beauty it is.
There Was A Ghost
They said there was a ghost…
Along the eastern rim of Damascus,
The suburban territory of Ghouta…
Was cursed with all sorts of rumors…
Rumors regarding witches, talking dolls…
And ghosts.
The ghost of someone who may have been crushed by the debris of the fallen buildings…
Or maybe of that little girl whom the extremists stabbed through heart…
Ghost of the refugee woman from Lebanon,
Who was killed as a bullet pierced her head…
Or maybe of Ghouta itself which remained shrouded in darkness…
Throughout the days of civil war.
Yes…
There was a ghost…
Ghost of War…
On My way To Heaven
On my way to heaven I saw an angel crying
Though I had heaven on my mind I went to him
I didn't know what to say, so I just sat beside him
I wanted to know what makes an angel cry…
I had heard stories of Gabriel’s triumph over Satan
And that of Michael playing a tabor back on earth
I had always thought of angels as joyful spirits
To see this one crying made me question my belief
I asked him, “ friend why do you cry?”
“You’re an angle meant to protect and spread joy”
He didn’t answer so I stood up to continue on my way
The angel whispered softly, “ my wings hurt.”
He Used To Tell Her Stories
He used to tell stories...
He was a father,
And she…
His daughter.
“One day a prince will come…”
He used to make her dream...
“He’ll love me the most”
She used to dream.
“One day you’ll live in a palace”
He used to make her smile…
“That palace would be bigger than our little cottage”
She used to smile.
“One day I’ll no longer be there”.
He used to give her strength.
“Dad…”
She became strong...
And one fine day...
He was no longer there to give her, anything….
Since then,
She used to visit her father's tomb…
She used to sit by…
She used to tell stories…
The father used to smile…
With every drop of rain,
That touched her cheek.
Heartfelt(Ayush Kumar)
The Smile Of Motherhood
The warmth of her arms,
And the gentle kiss…
That made the sleep…
A sigh of relief ,
And dreams?
A sweet feast…
For those gentle eyes.
And then it breaks…
That smile…
The smile of motherhood,
A smile that manifests,
A carefree girl into a responsible woman.
A smile that is so much more…
Than the embrace that,
Cushions the child’s head gently on her shoulder,
And her cheek that rests upon...
The child’s back.
Beauty, Love And The Admirer
Everything has beauty,
But no one to admire,
Even the roughest stone,
And the most unworthy desire.
Beauty is a power,
With sword of smile.
Admiration is an assertion,
And ignorance… just vile.
Beauty is a light within,
Nothing to do with body or face.
If one can admire
it remains...
Like a memory...Like a trace.
Beauty is a word for love,
But not love it is.
Love is something more than beauty
And yet…
Beauty it is.
There Was A Ghost
They said there was a ghost…
Along the eastern rim of Damascus,
The suburban territory of Ghouta…
Was cursed with all sorts of rumors…
Rumors regarding witches, talking dolls…
And ghosts.
The ghost of someone who may have been crushed by the debris of the fallen buildings…
Or maybe of that little girl whom the extremists stabbed through heart…
Ghost of the refugee woman from Lebanon,
Who was killed as a bullet pierced her head…
Or maybe of Ghouta itself which remained shrouded in darkness…
Throughout the days of civil war.
Yes…
There was a ghost…
Ghost of War…
On My way To Heaven
On my way to heaven I saw an angel crying
Though I had heaven on my mind I went to him
I didn't know what to say, so I just sat beside him
I wanted to know what makes an angel cry…
I had heard stories of Gabriel’s triumph over Satan
And that of Michael playing a tabor back on earth
I had always thought of angels as joyful spirits
To see this one crying made me question my belief
I asked him, “ friend why do you cry?”
“You’re an angle meant to protect and spread joy”
He didn’t answer so I stood up to continue on my way
The angel whispered softly, “ my wings hurt.”
He Used To Tell Her Stories
He used to tell stories...
He was a father,
And she…
His daughter.
“One day a prince will come…”
He used to make her dream...
“He’ll love me the most”
She used to dream.
“One day you’ll live in a palace”
He used to make her smile…
“That palace would be bigger than our little cottage”
She used to smile.
“One day I’ll no longer be there”.
He used to give her strength.
“Dad…”
She became strong...
And one fine day...
He was no longer there to give her, anything….
Since then,
She used to visit her father's tomb…
She used to sit by…
She used to tell stories…
The father used to smile…
With every drop of rain,
That touched her cheek.
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Arya
12/29/2018Dear Ayush , it's always a delight to read your poems and stories ...all of your poems have a meaningful message for the society... poets like you can bring a change and I don't know what to say about your poems ... should I analyze them ...okay so my analysis would simply be...you my friend write like an angel ....thank you so much for sharing your collection of poems . Best wishes .
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