sat dhara

Dead Poet      
      By: MD

You're a dead poet

Grimacing your endeavour

Languish it whose been there, wet

Desire to be seen, yet to be kept 

Impetuses a part of you to grow

I'm a dead poet either

Whose radar, a total enthralled 

Go on straight. Go off back

Desire to be free yet living in a loop

Solace her whom covered with blanket

Just slightly re-reading his poem back then in 2018. a poem which he has agreed to share with me. Wow, just wow. So, here it goes, it was suddenly created because of the charms of his work.

The Pompous Petals Have Their Curse
                By: Sat Dhara [re-write by : MD]

Is it a thorn, it is a dull

Prosperous rainbow vanished at small sight

Sometimes we groan in perished land

Phoenix runs, point out at the house-elf

Being left isn't a bad luck to perceive 

Heart is not blushing yet won't stop bleeding

daydreaming is translucent grief, open up is murdering

Heart agitates "look at its beauty", 

but the feeling of her was possessed with old door lock

The full moon stirred up, spelled me becoming lethal

The tactical devil screaming, shouting, groaning, 

Begged me, begged God to become a man

Men swearing, anything.. but not men, grinding they

Hoping as if it was eternal, endless.

Periodically the pompous petals have their curse

They all wish aimlessly withering 

Blood was cursed by the devil yet flattered by leaves

I was not the tall grass who passively terrorized by the rain

Entering the sacred chamber, each night 

Haunted by the stench of immortal souls

A feeling in an emotion of emptiness, trapped already.

...

Let me tell you something about this poem. It was created just now when I had been thinking about a friend of mine. I'm not gonna interpret it per line or talk about its rhythm. Just let me describe how it suddenly came up into my mind. As fast as light it just strikes me right into my core and turns the on button in my brain. My friend, well, He's got quality in writing. His works especially his poetries are an absolute beauty, full of uninterpreted emotion yet so severe to be understood. But lately, he said to me that he's busy with his life. His studies; college stuff. Got no time to write again, got no time to finally be able to feel or even to pour his emotion into words whether written there in a piece of paper or even typed it in his damned phone. He said, "even getting a proper sleep I find myself struggling how come then I come up with a fuckin poem, got no time". Yeah, I got that. But still don't lose your ability cause God has created you with such a talent. That way, whenever you get a fuckin' loose time, feel your emotion, write it down and I promise I'll be continuously annoying to declare myself as your loyal number one reader.

Sincerely,

Mellyna Diniar