Are you struck by the gates of your dreams?
Can't make it past the guard of the door?
Thrown away, disgraced and laughed at?
And still went there next day for sure?
Do you bleed from your hands when you think?
Or when your hands are cuffed to be restrained?
So basically they bleed no matter what happens,
Then why do you cry whenever you fail?
As same as a clock, a day there is,
There's two points from to see that heap of dust.
The intensity of the sun rising in the morning
Is the same at some point at the dusk.
So don't worry if you feel low, you ought to.
It's the beginning to the craft of your boon.
There will be a point in your own messed life,
When you will shine like sun in a noon.
The waves would come back and hit you a five,
The dolphins will cry for when you'll be done.
The flowers would sleeve your homecoming
As you will be the master on the tides of the sun.
The gates of your dreams would open wide,
And the guard would salute when you'll come,
And the legends would cherish your presence,
As you will be riding all the tides of the sun.
YOU ARE READING
A Quarrel in the Brain Park
PoésieJust some poems I wrote, at different points of my life. Hope you relate to them at some point. Also to remember, it's a collection of poems so there are many genres. See if you'll like either of them.
