Skip to main content

THE RETURN : RHYME 100

                    The Return  
                                Rhyme 100

Infants gambol about their home
With blooms and toys,
But they return to mom's bosom
For the real joys.

Children frolic about the streams,
In meads and hedges,
But to their home they return for
Their real flowerage.

Youths do rush about crazy for
World's whole treasure,
But they return for real living
To own life and career. 

Adults get sunk into the labour
With dedication,
But this's the return to raise well
Their own children. 

The old trudge about the yard
Of their nursing shed,
But lastly they return for rest
To their death bed.

©️ N P Samal 

Comments

  1. Fruits Casino Review - Best Fruits Casino Bonus
    It is the finest selection of Fruits Casino, the best online casino, one of the top slots on the 메리트카지노 market. Read all our Casino Review for 메리트카지노 more planet win 365 info!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

KISS ME, PLEASE!

Woo-hoo...! Kisss you...u...u...u...??? Oh, I'm being frenzical !!! My slavering tongue is jerking fast And my quivering lips are pouting out With booms of kisses in the air -- Ummah...! Ummah...! Ummah...! Just yesterday, an okay got my promise. Today is the chance no way to miss. And ready is my basket with pecks, Lip-locks, French kisses, and other varieties... I'm also ready for the lizard kiss, And the kiss of the Spider man... And I'm sure I won't beg like Big B  -- (Juma, chumma de de chumma...), This is my right to kiss I earn'd this week. I shall kiss like one Dhoom 2's Hritthik-Aash's, Although I envy Emraan's 'Murderous' thriller kiss... I'm ready with my balmy lips, Strawberry flavour'd,  To be the biggest smoocher  Of do hazaar chhabees... And I have hidden the cracks  On my wintry lips  To save from rashes My Valentine's softy cheeks... Well with flushed up teeth, With cleaned up tongue, With exotic ...

THE CHILDREN OF GAZA

                 The Children Of Gaza                               A Blank Verse Thundering in the sky, then rain of missiles... See how they are fleeing arms outstretched  Like the broken wings of storm-hit birds, And see their faces white with fear and hunger And hear their throbbing voice of pain and loss... Over their head, the sky's no kites, no clouds, But fire and fire amidst engulfing smoke, And they are running like the Napalm girl  From Vietnam or standing frozen, like The standing boy from Nagasaki, before Their elders who are whispering in fear Or staring helpless in the gauge of Death... They are the hapless children caught in the war zone. They have no home, no school, no ground of freedom, But sole refugee camps and hospitals  If marching death has spared them of their life. They hear not bedtime tales but sirens of death.  For them,...