The scent of the earth… the title deed
The life of a man… and futile need
The freedom to be… in silly glee
And the weight of the smallest deed.
Each on their own way, they split
Flames snuffed, and fires lit
A change ordained though nothing was gained
But that indeed was the writ.
Some saw the woman in chains and wings
Others saw farmers and tiny ‘people things’
“The earth!” they cried, is brittle and dried
An intricate web of ominous tidings
“Oh this needs attention the most”
“Fight that fire first, mere dost”
Unseen fractures abrupt departures
“To prosperity!” we raise a toast
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Poems are personal. Deeply so. One can’t give a damn about othrs reading or liking it. Just keep writing 🙂
I do a lot of poetry. Or at least, used to