Day after Day,
the burden of choice grew,
harder to bear,
heavier to carry
Heart pumped,
Veins thrummed,
gradually growing tired
Atlas bled,
still holding up.
for him,
it was a duty sacred,
to be performed,
like drawing of breath
while every breath,
suck out of him
life
moment after moment
like a poison
Still Atlas stood,
without a moan,
enduring the wounds
bleeding silent tears of blood
'cuz,
the wounds to him,
were like thorns
of the flower blooming from
seeds
lovingly sown
tenderly tended,
laboriously grown.
Thorns of the flower of love.
the burden of choice grew,
harder to bear,
heavier to carry
Heart pumped,
Veins thrummed,
gradually growing tired
Atlas bled,
still holding up.
for him,
it was a duty sacred,
to be performed,
like drawing of breath
while every breath,
suck out of him
life
moment after moment
like a poison
Still Atlas stood,
without a moan,
enduring the wounds
bleeding silent tears of blood
'cuz,
the wounds to him,
were like thorns
of the flower blooming from
seeds
lovingly sown
tenderly tended,
laboriously grown.
Thorns of the flower of love.
8 comments:
nice metaphorical poem..loved it
an atlas exists in every one of us...though the weight we carry differs from person to person. nice thought Meeta.
read your poem after a long time and must say you have matured a lot as a poet... its very deep and i could connect with every single word of it... and adee is right here, everyone has his own mountain to climb... keep writing
@Ani Thanks for the read & the comment :)
@Adee yes atlases are all around in everyone of us :)
@Vivek Thanku..infact I have written after a long time & I do keep trying
I like :)
2surubhi you are getting bck to the old habit of two words i see.
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