Poetry

I was trapped in the magic palace

With golden fetters and caged illusions.

I was fed with fantasy,

But the ink was missing.

I was trapped in the magic palace,

Where tears flow to fill my ink.

I was fed with emotions,

But the page was missing.

I was named poetry when,

I broke my golden fetters to escape.

Memories

I lingered my memories,

And gave ink in dreams;

And gazed at me,

To sought my spirit,

Which is lost in the sea,

Where I lost my smile.

I chased my memories,

To weep alone for me,

Who lost the dreams in a lonely shore,

Where soul is broken into pebbles.

O my ink!

O my ink!

I found you in the garbage

And sliced you like a cabbage,

And garnished you to manage

my thoughts printed in this page.

I polished your image;

But suffered with your rage,

Isold you in a mirage.

I sought you in the garage,

As you sprouted from the age.

And I found you in this cage

Where you assault my wage,

And made me live as a sage.

Sword

Opened my eyes,

And find my quill

fledged with thoughts;

I took my sword,

And filled the battleground,

With the new ink!

And my quill flew in the air

As a warrior of thoughts,

And my pages bleed

With the breathless thoughts.

And my thoughts took

The inked sword to fly and fight.

Warrior

I gargled my pain,

To quench my thirst

Of war with ink.

I filled my pen,

With the quest of dream

To unravel my fancy.

I finished my poem,

With the portrait of a warrior

Who gargled the world

With a pen in hands.