Once, on my way to the class
A little boy I saw,
Tender, soft as leaden glass
Giving an emotional thaw.
Holding pebbles in his hands
Pelting on an ant was he
Every time he missed as fistful sand
But he didn’t let the ant go free.
The sun was getting hot to hotter
But firm to firmer was the boy.
He looked like Aristotelian plotter
Who projects life as God’s coy.
Envied at the boy’s freedom
Stalked away I from the site
I a struggler but he in his kingdom
He was at his will but me to fight.
Dear Sir,
ReplyDeleteYour art of using emphatic words to form imagery is really worth praising. In your poems I found a beautiful depiction of your thoughts.