Yet to be

Days grow
Decades die
New leaves turn old
Yet they think of me as a failure.

Poets are not scientists
So they think
As they shatter my pen into pieces
For there is no room for me
In the castle of overflowing feelings.

The hope
Will outlive me as a memory
And they say I can’t build a home of poetry
All because I’m a science student.

Smiles blow down my face
Fragrance of the nature arouse my heart
And flourish out the grief words
They have planted in my heart
When they deprived me
Of my pen and my book
The emblem of my strength and feelings
As they tore my book with a bloody ink.

My heart wallows
My ears become deaf
With the cries of my book and pen
My pen and book cries for victory.

Feelings aren’t the same
They make my pen and book
An orphan to my feelings
They deprive me of my book and pen
But they can’t witter away
What nature has planted.

I’m a science student
I can do it
I can flow with the ink to grow
Poem are lines of words
To create and lay down feelings.

Chemicals can’t heal
Chemical can’t fade away a sufferance heart
Poetry is where I can lay my head
Where my feelings arouse with a mere voice.

The garden of poetry
Is not for a certain few but for all
I shall bring a drum of joy
To the home of poetry
Even when they refrain me.

Written by Aanat

Read other poems by Aanat here