What's Supposedly Mine?
If the world's purpose is to allow human feet to march on the ground
and to leave footprints, to step on by the younger ones.
If the wind's mission is to rustle the leaves,
and the mountain is to stand proud.
If the meadows are meant to be visited by bees,
and the sky is to hold up the clouds.
If the sun is to act like a furnace,
and the echoes to reverberate through time.
If the moon is to provide light chiefly at night,
and the rain is to shower the thirsty plants.
If poetry is made to lift up another's soul,
and the pen is to veer the ink of an astray poet.
If writers are born to rip their heart open through pen and paper,
and their written pieces are to save human beings from captivity, confinement and slavery.
If teachers are meant to prepare the youth at a later time or the unforeseeable day,
and their knowledge ought to be shared with young amateurs.
If everything in this life has a purpose,
Then, what is supposedly mine?
YOU ARE READING
Under The Casket Of Hatred And Oppression
PoetryThese short poems ideas flow from my emotional self. They arrive the same way as dreams do. So always I begin with a head empty of words and let my feelings go flow. Read at your own Discretion
