The mist hangs in the air,
like some long lost remembrance.
Dawn takes birth,
in the wake
of the night's deepest revelation.
A bud slowly
begins to bloom somewhere.
An immature grace.
A sweet innocence.
The magic of tenderness,
like a poet's forgotten juvenilia.
The mist hangs the air, like some long lost reembrance These lines are super. Keep writing
The magic of tenderness, like a poet's forgotten juvenilia. ............. poets.. are born.. ancient..and/ or they remain.. forever young.... true..! ! good work..10+
brilliant poem sarvesh...you use your pen to great effect..10
Your maturity of thought belies your age. The opening two lines are striking.
'A bud slowly begins to bloom somewhere.' Beautiful poem. 10 for this moving composition.
an artful piece...good imageries using dawn bud and the poet's budding imagination and his juvenilia...a pity nobody rated this...10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i can almost touch the experience of the emotion behind, sarvesh...ur emtions/wrds r tangible...