Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
arundhati bose Jun 2014
loud sounds of sobs
filled the li'l kid's room
as he looked at the sky
filled with stars and the moon

the li'l kid was crying
coz he missed his mother
let alone those thoughts
never had he seen his father

memories of his mother
again did ignight
coz the memories were the only thing
to hug him tight

now that he was adopted
he still felt glum
he regretted his sixth birthday
when he had lost his mum

he missed his mother
again did he start to weep
he was only eleven
when he drugged himself to sleep

a harsh blow of wind
knocked open the window
a white rose had fallen in
by the sudden wind's blow

he held the rose delicately
and stared at it in awe
it reminded him of his mother
beautiful and without a flaw

he drifted to sleep
along with the white rose
innocently thinking
it pursed his mother's soul
hello there, It's my first poem here. Hope you guys like it. I'd written it when i was 12 :)
Zainab Attari May 2014
Look into my eyes and you shall see
The innocence and solitude in me
I am all alone in this massive ball
No one to pick me when I fall

Touch my body and feel
The absence of countless meals
I have dug into several bins
To find a morsel from trashed tins

I have slept on cold hard grounds
A better place, still not found
I was soaked by the pouring rains
And disturbed by noisy trains

I have played with broken dolls
Drawn with charcoal on overfilled walls
I have prayed to all the gods I know
Their love makes my soul glow

I am a child too
Don’t deprive me of you
Cuddle me in your arms
A little crave for love means no harm

I know I am an orphan
And might not even get buried in a coffin
But don’t shoo me away so recklessly
Where is your humanity?

Don’t throw that money and walk away
Please hear me out or for a while just stay
If you know of an orphanage, take me there
I no longer want to live in despair.

-Zainab Attari
I have a soft corner for children and it pains me to see them with no guardians, parents or older siblings to pick them up when they fall or cuddle them in their arms when they feel cold.
I fail to understand the reasons behind poor families growing their bloodline when they have nothing to feed it to survive. Sometimes one needs to be practical rather than emotional. :)
Audrey Apr 2014
Live in the shadows
And flee from the sun,
An army of rebels
Marching as one.
Mingle your voice
With the other outcasts,
Your single goal
Is to simply outlast.
Elaenor Aisling Mar 2014
I
The Boy
A child of broken whiskey bottles
and stained old carpet
built hastily, with scraps of stolen innocence
Porcelain in overalls,
with full harvest moon eyes.

II
Father
He had distant star eyes,
always looking for things far away
and when he found them,
doused them in *****
and set them ablaze, watching as they burned
in his saw mill hands.

III
Aunt
She was a war of a woman.
Embraced him with her entrenching arms,
a cloud of mustard gas perfume
rising from her breastworks,
into her flaming hair.

IV
Mother
Mother was a whispered name in grey stone,
a grey photograph on the brown mantel,
with perfect skin and dull eyes,
he'd seen her ghost at the piano one night.

V
Uncle
He had ****** hands
that he shoved into his pockets
when he put his cleaver down for the night.
He always offered crimson quarters
that bought red striped candies.
An experiment....

— The End —