Baskadia

In the tall grass

Warning: This is a dark poem, some people might be triggered, others comforted, read at your own risk

Poetry

Alone

I cried for help Hoping someone would hear me But to no avail I received no response I closed my eyes Trying to wake up from this tormenting nightmare Hoping to see the light When my eyes are opened For the first time in forever I have never felt so helpless and alone I couldn't bear the silence anymore So I started shouting I ran out of breath Thinking maybe I was about to die At that point I couldn't think of anything more Than to end my life

Sunset

019 Oranges are scattered across the horizon, creating hues of gradient light in the zone. On the ocean, it'll come home and will sleep on its bosom. As the day comes to an end, it'll wave goodbye before it descends, leaving the dark as it takes a rest and parks. As the sky got covered in sentiment, like a beauty in predicament; may their hearts be at ease and wrap their day in peace. For although it symbolizes the end, where the day bid farewell and bend; there should also be another beginning,

SHE

For the girl child whose dream is becoming shattered by the miserable hands of those living around her. For th the girl child who's dying in pain day by day. For the girl child whose molested life has become a daily bread.

The Tiny Stranger At George

One day at a pet shop, I met a man selling socks, For money he wanted to swap, But I really wanted some white fox. "Got any white fox?" asked I. "For that's how I'll spend my money." "No white fox here!" said the guy. He seemed to find it quite funny. "We've got some lovely crisps, I'll give you a very fine price." "I'd rather have some wisps." The man blinked rapidly thrice. The man seemed exceptionally energetic, And his manner was strangely amused. He wasn't what I would call electromagnetic,

Pink Titles

Inspired by Pink Floyd song titles

Galib

Title: Embracing My Passions Poetry, Badminton, Books, Movies, and Music

the explore of passions that light up my life and inspiration.I have discovered a world of self-expression and comforts. poetry is to express depths of my emotions, thought. And I Enjoy of playing badminton. Books enhance my vocabulary, imagination and inspiration, learning and Movies are my comforters, providing solace teach me about life, I find solace in the embrace of music.transport me to a serene sea, where I can sit on the sand and let my imagination free, comforting me.

شام جو هي پهر

شام جو هي پهر Evening poetry in sindhi #sindhipoetry555

I'm just one (poetry)

They say I'm two, but I'm just one, A mystery to unravel, yet to be undone. I stand before them, flesh and bone, But they see two, a duality unknown. They question my existence, my very being, As if two souls within me are disagreeing. But I assure them, with every breath I take, That I am one, my heart and soul at stake. They point to my contradictions, my every flaw, As if two personas within me are at war. But I tell them, with every word I speak, That I am one, my identity not weak. For I am

Islamic

Achi batye sab tak pohnchye plz thanku

Tere bin season 2 Trending Pakistani drama

The Isolated Porcupine

A poem about little porcupine

By the river side.

By the river side, A peaceful retreat Where a gentle breeze blows And the sun's heat The birds chirping and singing, The trees blowing in the wind, The grass swayed in harmony, The water trickled in a gentle din. The sound of the river soothes my soul, The scent of the grass sweet and bold The sight of the river, so clear and blue, It's beauty like nothing I ever knew. The river side, A place of solace and peace, Where I can go to find A calming release

Poetry

Hard shell, thick skin Slow pace, leave a trail Thick trail, beautiful scenery Companionship of like mind Like wise carry each other through the thick bush Of unchattered, scary, dangerous, beautiful scenery Grow skin and hard shell on the road untraveled, slow leave a trail!

JOURNAL OF A WHORE

It was on a bright weekend early afternoon. As I remained there ringing the doorbell tenderly, somebody pulled my pants. "Mom, mom, convey me." Cried a minuscule sharp voice. I really wanted no heavenly messenger to let me know what its identity was. Obviously, it was the voice of my three years of age little girl. If by some stroke of good luck she knew how chaotic it was lifting her up as she had put on a ton of weight as of late. Perhaps more than her age mates however at that point, a mother's affection wouldn't allow me to overlook the little one, regardless of whether I needed to. "Great sky," I murmured, feigned exacerbation, and scooped her up in my arms.

LOVE IN RELATIONSHIP

it more of spoken words

THE THIRD WORLD POLITICIAN

Here he is, The big man. He flaunts his money, To show the masses His affluent and wealth. And the rumours spread, That the big man, Was not a businessman. "But what could he be". They wondered. Which occupation, Made you as rich as a businessman? It was not carpentry, Nor was it bricklaying, Or blacksmithing, Then suddenly we knew! The big man, Was nothing but a politician. An occupation of the privileged Who never got tired of their occupation, Who did more bad than good, Whose personal intere

OH MORNING!!!

Morning, a kind of fresh start reforming what seized to exist, peace. As for me I'll say my morning my peace.