Happens nothing till its told
Carved on thousands of little pieces of gold
Noted, witnessed, sorted, stored
Lives lived inside minds,spent like dreams
Accomadating to eat, breathe and sleep
Troublesome to own, needless to conceive
My life from outside the window pane
only child, sewed and stiched
Bipolar souls, drowned, dead and afloat
On the river of dere banal agonies
Ppl attached to me thru history
Detached to d goodness of dere heart
Dere hearts turned to stone
Dere conscience ripped apart
I rise from the debris of dearagement
Fire , ice, soft, rocklike, amoroid, bland
So full still so short
Clenched between my palms
A magical peice of ice
Makes my nails bleed
Makes me want to die
I dont die
But get dressed in a new shade of death
Clothed so grim, so cheerless
Something inside still inspire d thot of life
it wants and it fights
It fights for unattainable, hopeless things
Rearranging d particles of beings around
Elements of the landscape in which I subside
Forwarding,rewinding time
Expecting to be set free
With within reach victory
My absurd ways, doesnt have what it takes
But takes from me
Another right to reinstate
My proof of life
Before I am chained to d invisible bed
Sentenced to pretend lovliness
Sent to d difficult wonderland
Wonder, where I shall always
Till I find d hope door again
Only dis time i wont open it
Wont step out
For I have, forever more
Surrended my soul
And pinned myself to d Ground to stay


Saveira Farooq

Saveira Farooq's picture

I think, writing poems is the perfect way to record the way you see the world. Would be nice to meet some like minded people who have the same perspective.

Last updated February 05, 2012