When poetry is called non-progressive,
Society prioritises gains,
Machinery and banking are the blessings,
And human race its own path betrays,
 
What can a poor poet, born untimely,
Achieve in the unfair descending world,
Besides all the unnecessary rhyming
And even less appreciated rightful thoughts?
 
The current art is to confuse and stugger,
To hint to dirty secrets, all aloof;
It...

Read and leave comments (0)

It would be good if you were here,
But you are not;
It would be good to hold you near,
And save from cold.
 
It would be good to be together
From day to day,
To make each other feeling better, 
Not far away.
 
It would be good, but at the moment
It can't be done,
And we keep living in the corners - 
And dream of home.
 

Read and leave comments (0)

There are just four main types of art,
Just two criteria to weigh them;
It's easy then to split apart
Those that are trivial or seldom.

First, if an artist has a gift:
A talent, bright and outstanding:
The one that's broadly perceiv'd 
As masterstroke with fortune blended.

Then each of these unequal groups
Divides again by good or evil,
The good's inspired by cherubs, 
The other dra...

Read and leave comments (1)

How can I praise my love in bare words?
Will they describe the tenderness of glances?
Will they explain why am I never bored,
Although my heart is taken as a ransom?
 
What words can rightly serve the very love
That blends respect, desire and attachment?
When one can feel as heavenly betroth'd,
The only pain is moment of departure. 
 
Yet, I attempt expressing this in words,
As humble s...

Read and leave comments (0)