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My Poem

My Poem
This poem will fade away,
Like a warm summer’s leaf,
Shades of palm trees
We suffer
The higher
The less it does shelter.

This poem is like that,
Today it’s read
And
A moment later,
Shelved,
Upon the folded leaves of time
No computer can tell,
But this poem’s a love story,
Of lovers yet unknown, unborn
But who like many of us
Have once been born and gone,
Then this poem will surface,
As a moment of everlasting joy,
Who was the one who wrote this one?
Everyone will toy,
Write theses and verses
And compare notes
What had the poet?
Who so ever he /she did chime
When to this lovely poem
They gave life
As matter of time.

Comments

IT speaks about the poetic heart and
the vulnerability of a poem's permanence
even in today's cutting edge technology -
how long can a poem live when web pages
and servers shut down, when poems are shelved
in bookshelves and the world wide web
never to be seen of or heard of again.
It is in this case the poet's vicarious death.

__________________________________________________
'Break, break break on thy cold grey stones, O Sea.'

Poetic Tsunami

Many a tsunami
I have already seen
Then I asked God
Where have you been?
He simply smiled at me
And said

My child,
I went to avert an imminent one,
So what you must do to save
From the scourge of Internet,
Send your file to me
For ere another one comes.

Your work will be safe
The Internet will be free
Your fear twill cease
But ere you come
And
We two are alone,
I shall return the file to thee.

Till then of the Internet and tsunami be free
Continue to write poetry,
The world has copied some
So fear not of another tsunami,
These will have to come
Or else all earthians
Will have no desire
To have my heart won
Oh child
You are just a solitary one

loved

author comment

An Ancient Master,
Once Hath Said

If an insignificant piece of poetry
Brings tears
In your eyes
It’s no poem.
But if one can bring tears
In the reader’s eyes,
Then only tis one

How wrong he could be,
I’m sorry to say,
Your comments
Bring tears to my eyes today
And
Tis no poem he’d say,

Shirley you are the monument of strength
Standing like the Iron Pillar
Of Asoka in India
Without you my poem
Would have been a simple token
A handful of sand
In the fingers open,
How long twould last
None could be mistaken,
But your words so spoken,
Bring a seizure to my heart
Jokes apart,
No doctor can how so ever mend,
Now I feel that I’ve been converted
From a pseudo scientist
My mind has been totally diverted.

loved

author comment

Discovery is the greatest victory! All a poet ever does is discover him/herself, then we are forever.

Thank you Loved!

~

I have discovered ,
I need be grateful to you
to all those who
have made the discovery
so possible,
if tis true.

loved

author comment
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