loss...Mature

I entered the realm of literature hoping to find therein some valuable light of quite, subtle inspiration...but I failed to find a single mark of promise and survival for my budding talent and fathomless passion for my beloved art of writing poetry that blooms from the ashes of my living body and, matures into a fruit of gold and honey of the quality, undomesticated by princess earth 'cause she lives not in the virtue of her soul but in the lips of her sinners, too sexually attractive and dripped in madness

I took English Literature to follow my passion...But now only the ink flows from my pen, the passion is dry...

Only my eyes are wet, the tears drop dry...on the faded pages of my imagination's funeral ceremony...This is what I feel when I enter the examination hall and stare wide-eyed at the long face of my emotionless , blind sheet of answer paper with my register number on it.

But the paper hates me... 'cause the dress of answers it wishes to wear and shine like a princess of brilliance before the examiner's eyes... is not what my words weave... WORDS, blooming like a half-dead flower and falling on the hopeless sheet of pure white mess...like a popular female icon feebly fallen on hospital bed with breast cancer,  stealing away her crown of glory and fame...

What a pity I am imprisoned in 3 years of wasted life...Though I learned a lot from the experience of studying a degree course in my favorite subject than from the college library...!!! Because I am retiring from life and from the horrible mark-sheets life offers me as precious lessons I am to treasure till my expiry date expires and breathes its last,  from life and existence... and is doomed to exile...!!! 

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed