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My name is Joy, and I love to write. Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **
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Mar 7, 2007 at 3:41pm
#1466605
prompt 28


# 28 Sometimes, time is compressed inside a moment. In other ways, in a specific moment, we feel we've lived years. Write a poem about such a moment.


Snow is my Pillow


A wrong jump awakened a lot of dormant truth.
Sometimes just a slot makes you breath
smoother than hundred thousand gusts.
And a short glimpse makes you notice
better than through the best magnifier.
The faraway breeze mumbled to make me freeze
and by my window I heard the rattles of the wind.
My dusky thoughts refuted crystals chronic falling.

A weird stranger dressed in rags was rambling outside.
Amazed I watched him filling with snow his bag.
I opened the window and leapt to call him in.
A wild cat crushed my face for me to faint then.
Plots started forming, ‘my grandson, go back home
I’m an old shallow man whose house is everywhere
Snow is my pillow and hail is my diet
Now go back to your hut and leave me just as quiet,’
The old man sighed and carried his bag away…

Following his steps, he vanished slowly
as his body mixed up with white spreading snow.
‘Wake up my dear; you’ve slept for too long now,’
Mum whispered through my ears as I opened my eyes.
The smell of sauce mingled with dead leaves smell
and the setting was back home with real life tracks;
where the hero had just quitted being a character.
‘Soft is my pillow and meat is my diet.’
On hearing my murmurs, mum gazed at me
I feebly smiled as I looked at my nearby plate.
MESSAGE THREAD
*Exclaim*
prompt 28
· 03-07-07 3:41pm
by essence of thought Author IconMail Icon
Re: prompt 28 · 03-07-07 3:49pm
by Joy Author IconMail Icon

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