Sunday, November 23, 2008

The Egotistic Men of Letters

Cowards who cannot accept
Mere realities that crept
Behind their backs like shadows
Worthy to die by arrows

Cowards whose egotistic
Views are shallow; moronic
Taking refuge behind lies
Later gain incentive prize

Cowardice is what you see
In there texts that are not free
Edited with golden pride
Cowards, that is how they write

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Of year old Poems

How long have i been writing?
Sarcasms, accounts of hate
Melodious verses singing
The streets, did it echoed great?

In the streets do people hear?
Begging thoughts outside their gates
Locked by ignorance and fear
Where reality awaits

The same poem that i wrote
This very date, i ponder
Been so long i swore an oath
To use my pen and wander

Wandered like an albatross
Or a Monarch butterfly
Round the world i came to cross
With the power of my eye

Still that oath i never broke
Though sometimes my fingers tire
My thoughts sometimes drifts like smoke
Quickly gone, but hard to hire

Like the playing of our dreams
Every time we try to wake
Recollecting all those themes
Few remain for us to take

These verses sprinkled with rhymes
Are just coming out of dates
When given unusual climes
What future in me awaits?