The Biased Regret Poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
The Biased Regret
Do I interrupt your solitary privacy,
When I pour on your horrible territories,
With hot steaming tears, cold shoulders,
Collecting all those thinking free garbage,
Running through the vixen canals,
To the fresh water oxidation ponds,
Am I a busy body when I blow away your wigs,
Of rococo architectures, jump through your windows,
To collapse your matrimonial shroud,
Rip open the weakened structures,
Pick up the boastful flamboyant boats,
to sail and exhibit in the middle of salt water brutes?
Am I a stranger and do I have a biased heart,
when I see you from thousand miles distance,
you are wearing the necklace of drought and,
call that as the noose to the farmers,
abandoned are always abandoned by everyone,
cherished are always cherished by everyone,
blame me not, should I have to repent or not?
a good question, Gajanan. once people are abandoned for a reason or many (money means poverty and luxury) other people also try to distant themselves from them, until and unless the abandoned people secure enough courage to come out of their problems, though one or two good samaritans may be around to help them, but once people are abandoned, they not only feel like that they are abandoned by everyone, in reality they will be abandoned and neglected for a short period of time.
I like the poem from the core of my heart, But I failed to understand 'abandoned are always abandoned by everyone ' nothing is useless in this world, nothing is abandoned by all. feel my words. thanks for the poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
5/3/2024 2:39:10 AM # 1.0.0.1119
The Biased Regret / solitary privacy, your horrible territories, vixen canals, blow away your wigs, matrimonial with shroud, and the last three lines very nice poem with the reality