The working of a tired hand
wont do much justice to the land,
wont do much justice to the land,
It wont beautifully mend the gold
nor will it really move a soul ,
The pale working hand we see
Has something to reveal ,
It speaks about its gravest fears
Will it manage to feed me this year?
nor will it really move a soul ,
The pale working hand we see
Has something to reveal ,
It speaks about its gravest fears
Will it manage to feed me this year?
All these feelings hovered up
It continues to paint the shimering steel ,
Covered with paint all over here
It tries to catch up with the real world ,
Lost in his thoughts of great victory
He compels himself to work a bit more
But thinks aloud , HOW much more ?
It continues to paint the shimering steel ,
Covered with paint all over here
It tries to catch up with the real world ,
Lost in his thoughts of great victory
He compels himself to work a bit more
But thinks aloud , HOW much more ?
Saddened by his tired effort ,
His trembling hand counts his share ,
He sits beside all his ware .....and rests there
His trembling hand counts his share ,
He sits beside all his ware .....and rests there
8 comments:
Nice.. Nice.. Nice :)
after all its ur pic ;)
beautiful poem...kiddo u sure write well!!! btw am da angelic bitch...
oh well here its explicit by the pic, rest of the comments as in your scrap box...you have keen observation for life around..aptly picked up up by your mind to express from within into words pictureque..fatema write on substantially..
thank you sunil
:)
A nice piece. :)
thank u nilanshu
words were right.. so were the feelings... pain was rightly conveyed.. nicely done..
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