Suicide Note
'You speak to me of narcissism but I reply that it is
a matter of my life' - Artaud
'At this time let me somehow bequeath all the leftovers
to my daughters and their daughters' - Anonymous
Better,
despite the worms talking to
the mare’s hoof in the field;
better,
despite the season of young girls
dropping their blood;
better somehow
to drop myself quickly
into an old room.
Better (someone said)
not to be born
and far better
not to be born twice
at thirteen
where the boardinghouse,
each year a bedroom,
caught fire.
Dear friend,
I will have to sink with hundreds of others
on a dumbwaiter into hell.
I will be a light thing.
I will enter death
like someone’s lost optical lens.
Life is half enlarged.
The fish and owls are fierce today.
Life tilts backward and forward.
Even the wasps cannot find my eyes.
Yes,
eyes that were immediate once.
Eyes that have been truly awake,
eyes that told the whole story—
poor dumb animals.
Eyes that were pierced,
little nail heads,
light blue gunshots.
And once with
a mouth like a cup,
clay colored or blood colored,
open like the breakwater
for the lost ocean
and open like the noose
for the first head.
Once upon a time
my hunger was for Jesus.
O my hunger! My hunger!
Before he grew old
he rode calmly into Jerusalem
in search of death.
This time
I certainly
do not ask for understanding
and yet I hope everyone else
will turn their heads when an unrehearsed fish jumps
on the surface of Echo Lake;
when moonlight,
its bass note turned up loud,
hurts some building in Boston,
when the truly beautiful lie together.
I think of this, surely,
and would think of it far longer
if I were not… if I were not
at that old fire.
I could admit
that I am only a coward
crying me me me
and not mention the little gnats, the moths,
forced by circumstance
to suck on the electric bulb.
But surely you know that everyone has a death,
his own death,
waiting for him.
So I will go now
without old age or disease,
wildly but accurately,
knowing my best route,
carried by that toy donkey I rode all these years,
never asking, “Where are we going?”
We were riding (if I’d only known)
to this.
Dear friend,
please do not think
that I visualize guitars playing
or my father arching his bone.
I do not even expect my mother’s mouth.
I know that I have died before—
once in November, once in June.
How strange to choose June again,
so concrete with its green breasts and bellies.
Of course guitars will not play!
The snakes will certainly not notice.
New York City will not mind.
At night the bats will beat on the trees,
knowing it all,
seeing what they sensed all day.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Related quotes
Eyes of Death
I looked into your eyes
Your Eyes of Death
I killed for those eyes to look into mine
Into my eyes of pain and guilt
I dared to walk into your path
I dared to take your hand into mine
And I dared to tell you my darkest secret
I stared into your Eyes of Death
And I lost my soul to them
When I looked into your Eyes of Death.
To this day, I am still dead
To this day, I can no longer live in the mortal world
To this day, we shall not die of fire, water, or love,
But of our Eyes of Death that rein our souls
I stare into your Eyes of Death and I cringe at the sight
I look into your Eyes of Death and I am no longer alive
I looked into your Eyes of Death
And I died again, before I could run from them
For I cannot stand to be around you to this very day again
I looked into your eyes
Your Eyes…of Death
poem by Jade DragonHeart
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Grandma, I Never Knew You
I never knew you
You are my grandmother.
I get mad at God
For not giving me a chance
To know you.
You died ten years
Before I was born.
It breaks my heart
Every time I think
That I will never get
The chance to know you.
I look at your picture that hangs
Almost everyday.
I wonder if I have your eyes.
I wonder if I have your laugh.
I wonder if I have your smile.
I wonder if I have your nose.
I wonder if I have anything of you.
I guess I will never know
I guess I will never get to see you.
Death is the most tragic thing in life
Death is hard on me now than I was younger.
Death is what I have inside
Thinking of everyone that I have lost.
Death is forever
Death is longer than an eternity
Death is permanent
Death is a scar that never goes away.
Death is what I feel everyday
Death is what has to be.
Death is what is happening everyday.
Death is what no one knows for sure.
Death is what everyone goes through.
Death is the reason why I am the way I am
Death is what I fear…
poem by Kimberly Santistevan
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Born With The Hunger
Hear the coyote howl
He's found his pray at last
In one moment of weakness
The chase is over so fast
He celebrates his kill
No mercy in his eyes
When you're born with the hunger
The hunger never dies
Midnight is on the prowl
And I hear it call my name
Danger lurks in the shadows
But it's all part of a game
Until I quench this thirst
I will not close these eyes
When you're born with the hunger
The hunger never dies
You and I, we're the same
We both carry this flame
To depths of our souls
Once the fever awakes
We can never escape
It's beyond our control
We're both born with the hunger
Oh with the hunger
Temptation bites your lip
One kiss ignites the fire
So begins the seduction
As we succumb to desire
Your body aches for more
Why are you so surprised
When you're born with the hunger
The hunger never dies
When you're born with the hunger
The hunger - it never dies
Never dies
When you're born with the hunger It never dies
When you're born with the hunger Oh, it never dies
He celebrates the kill
You're born with the hunger
It never dies
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When A Friend Goes Away
What hurts is when a friend leaves you
When a friend deceives(intentionally trick or mislead) you
When a friend dies
And nobody has a clue
Nobody knows why
When a friend a close friend moves
When a friend diverts (turns) away from you.
For the littlest reason
When a friend dies
When you’re able to see it coming in their eyes
When you think they went other than heaven because their decisions were always unwise
When the demise (time quickly ends) of death quickly comes
You always ask why
Why when they had so much bligh (power)
When they had so much faith
But there was to much on their plate
But surely faded away
I knew it was going to happen
But not this soon
Died before my birthday
Just Before the month of June
One afternoon
The night she said she wished shed be further than the moon
But I will always remember the month of December
My friend’s birthday
She died in the worst way
But she’ll always be remembered
By: Chris Union © written June 8,2010
poem by Chris Union
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Life and Death, How Ironic
Life, it described my Mother
Life, she was the image
Life, she was healthy
Life, she loved every day
Life, you saw it in her eyes
Life, you heard it in her voice
Life, how ironic it could be
Death, the impossible
Death, too somber a thought for her
Death, she would live a long, long time before it would confront her
Death, sickness maybe, but there is always a cure
Death, not even a thought in the doctor’s mind
Death, it now replaced life
Life and death, my mother passed away with a look of peace on her face
She died knowing that she lived every moment to the fullest.
poem by Janice Karp
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Dippold the Optician
What do you see now?
Globes of red, yellow, purple.
Just a moment! And now?
My father and mother and sisters.
Yes! And now?
Knights at arms, beautiful women, kind faces.
Try this.
A field of grain—a city.
Very good! And now?
A young woman with angels bending over her.
A heavier lens! And now?
Many women with bright eyes and open lips.
Try this.
Just a goblet on a table.
Oh I see! Try this lens!
Just an open space—I see nothing in particular.
Well, now!
Pine trees, a lake, a summer sky.
That’s better. And now?
A book.
Read a page for me.
I can’t. My eyes are carried beyond the page.
Try this lens.
Depths of air.
Excellent! And now?
Light, just light, making everything below it a toy world.
Very well, we’ll make the glasses accordingly.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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To A Twelve Year-old Child
-A 12-year-old girl, who became despondent over her family’s poverty, hanged herself inside their makeshift house a day after her father told her he could not give her the P100 she needed for a school project.
-The government is taking responsibility for a 12-year-old girl who took her life because of extreme poverty but assured that steps are being taken to ease hunger and poverty, officials said on Thursday.
-News reports of The Philippine Daily Inquirer,2007
The deep shadows that enveloped your home
And never retreated since you were born
Became the light that illuminated your mind.
I sorrow for your death, my dear child
Your mother’s milk on your lips barely dried
And she is not tired from singing cradlesongs
I did not tell you that there is life…still
There is life beyond a pad paper and a pencil
that fathers forced into shameful indolence
could not purchase, even with their blood
This world did not demand heroism from
someone so tender and innocent as you
Because it owed you; you did not owe it.
I sorrow for your death, my dear child
But I must release the black garb soon
for your small grave is a large gift
to every cold, famished child like you
An intensely brilliant light for a world
that is too dark; yes, too disgracefully dark
for the blindingly clear sparks and lightning
emitted by charged voices hoarse from
traveling too much space in too much time
You are the voice of the unheeded loud voices.
Your grave is the commanding energy
that will rouse a nation groping in the dark
for its soul fatigued from hopelessness,
broken promises and aimless wandering
Resigned to a fate worse than death
For there is no hunger in the cemetery,
not even cold, in spite of its glacial ambiance
Your corpse is the chance at redemption
of them that wear the crown but never
rode the horse to the unspeakable places
where every human blight celebrates
victory handed on a silver platter by the enemy.
I sorrow for your death
It is one death too many
the death of a million children
that should end with your death
But I will not slur your sacrifice
The tears that flow are an amalgam
of crushing grief and a song of hope.
poem by Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot
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Kind Sir: These Woods
Kind Sir: This is an old game
that we played when we were eight and ten.
Sometimes on The Island, in down Maine,
in late August, when the cold fog blew in
off the ocean, the forest between Dingley Dell
and grandfather's cottage grew white and strange.
It was as if every pine tree were a brown pole
we did not know; as if day had rearranged
into night and bats flew in sun. It was a trick
to turn around once and know you were lost;
knowing the crow's horn was crying in the dark,
knowing that supper would never come, that the coast's
cry of doom from that far away bell buoy's bell
said
your nursemaid is gone
. O Mademoiselle,
the rowboat rocked over. Then you were dead.
Turn around once, eyes tight, the thought in your head.
Kind Sir: Lost and of your same kind
I have turned around twice with my eyes sealed
and the woods were white and my night mind
saw such strange happenings, untold and unreal.
And opening my eyes, I am afraid of course
to look-this inward look that society scorns-
Still, I search these woods and find nothing worse
than myself, caught between the grapes and the thorns.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Sylvia's Death
For Sylvia Plath
O Sylvia, Sylvia,
with a dead box of stones and spoons,
with two children, two meteors
wandering loose in a tiny playroom,
with your mouth into the sheet,
into the roofbeam, into the dumb prayer,
(Sylvia, Sylvia
where did you go
after you wrote me
from Devonshire
about raising potatoes
and keeping bees?)
what did you stand by,
just how did you lie down into?
Thief -
how did you crawl into,
crawl down alone
into the death I wanted so badly and for so long,
the death we said we both outgrew,
the one we wore on our skinny breasts,
the one we talked of so often each time
we downed three extra dry martinis in Boston,
the death that talked of analysts and cures,
the death that talked like brides with plots,
the death we drank to,
the motives and the quiet deed?
(In Boston
the dying
ride in cabs,
yes death again,
that ride home
with our boy.)
O Sylvia, I remember the sleepy drummer
who beat on our eyes with an old story,
how we wanted to let him come
like a sadist or a New York fairy
to do his job,
a necessity, a window in a wall or a crib,
and since that time he waited
under our heart, our cupboard,
and I see now that we store him up
year after year, old suicides
and I know at the news of your death
a terrible taste for it, like salt,
(And me,
me too.
And now, Sylvia,
you again
with death again,
that ride home
with our boy.)
And I say only
with my arms stretched out into that stone place,
what is your death
but an old belonging,
a mole that fell out
of one of your poems?
(O friend,
while the moon's bad,
and the king's gone,
and the queen's at her wit's end
the bar fly ought to sing!)
O tiny mother,
you too!
O funny duchess!
O blonde thing!
poem by Anne Sexton
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Dance with Death
Consecrated cold earth
There is no dignity
Sworn to die from birth
Here to lie for eternity
So is there glory in death
Never again to feel warm
Or see the light of day
Is death the prize for life
I’ve got the stench of death
On my hands
I just buried a friend
Dance with Death
I saved his life
To put him in the ground
Such a high price
Can’t break the chains, I’m bound
I have a fire inside me
Feels like I’m from hell
What else could it be
Death has me in its spell
I have to say good bye
It would be much better
But I keep seeing his eyes
I know I’ll see them forever
I’ve gotta let him go
I need to end the pain
But I don’t know how
Seems I’m caught in this game
I have the stench of death
On my hands
I just buried a friend
Dance with Death
I’m in that dance
The waltz of endings
The horrid trance
Of new beginnings
I’ve got a dance with death
Swing to his song
Take your last breath
It won’t be long
You’ve gotta move to the beat
Dance with death
Play his song for me
Dance with death
poem by Haley Revell
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death, and Life
so many forms of
death so many chapters
ended abruptly without
resolution
the father or mother
you thought you'd never lose
that you didnt spend enough time with
the son lost to a foreign conflict,
draped in a flag
the abortion you opted for
cause you couldnt see
any other way and now,
years later, you have doubts
the teenager who committed suicide,
that you couldnt reach,
somehow couldnt tell them or
show them they were not alone
the young man who overdosed
alone in an empty apartment
the baby left to die
in an alley and the teenage mother
who died there too!
the companion who walked away
after so many years and the
best part of you died there
the old man diagnosed with a cancer
that they cant treat and the death
of waiting to die.
the young family who loses everything,
and the dream of a future dies
as they become numbers lost
to the din of hopelessness
but what is death?
is it an ending?
or a beginning?
time worn brown leaves crumbling,
dissolving into dirt,
waiting through the winter
for a new spring to come
winter doesnt last forever!
spring is already there
in those time browned leaves
open your eyes, open your heart,
life never ends!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Death and Birth
Death leads to birth rather than birth, to death.
Birth is close to death and not vice versa.
Every birth is at the result of a death.
Death to birth, not birth to death, is the path.
The death of clay is the birth of a pot;
The death of the pot is the birth of clay.
Ice melts to water and water forms ice.
In each conversion, occur death and birth.
The death of a night is the birth of a day;
The death of a day is the birth of a night.
New Year means the death of the old year too.
In each transition, takes place death and birth.
The death of a seed is the birth of a plant;
The death of gametes is the birth of an embryo.
Salts die to form cells; cells die to form salts.
In each growth, form death and birth of matter.
The so called death and birth is nothing but
Deaths and births of forms made of matter.
The matter itself does not die to be born
But is converted to different forms.
Elements disappear to form plants.
Plants as food add to the animals’ flesh.
Plants and animals on death liberate
As elements, serving through worms and germs.
When a child is born, there’s no birth of life.
The embryo transforms into a child.
When a man dies, there is no death of life.
The body disintegrates to salts.
Matter, energy and life have no death
They have got one birth since when they’ve been.
They interact and come different stages
In which the pattern is death and birth.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I Caught Fire
Seemed to stop my breath
My head on your chest
Waiting to cave in
From the bottom of my...
Hear your voice again
Could we dim the sun
And wonder where we've been
Maybe you and me
So kiss me like you did
My heart stopped beating
Such a softer sin
(I'm melting, I'm melting)
In your eyes
I lost my place
Could stay a while
And I'm melting
In your eyes
Like my first time
That I caught fire
Just stay with me
Lay with me
Now
Never caught my breath
Every second I'm without you I'm a mess
Ever know each other
Trust these words are stones
why cuts aren't healing
Learning how to love
I'm melting (I'm melting)
In your eyes
I lost my place
Could stay a while
And I'm melting
In your eyes
Like my first time
That I caught fire
Just stay with me
Lay with me
(Stay with me lay with me now)
You could stay and watch me fall
And of course I'll ask for help
Just stay with me now
Take my hand
We could take our heads off
stay in bed just make love that's all
Just stay with me now
I'm melting (I'm melting)
In your eyes
I lost my place
Could stay a while
and I'm melting
In your eyes
Like my first time
That I caught fire
Just stay with me
Lay with me
In your eyes
I lost my place
Could stay a while
and I'm melting
In your eyes
Like my first time
That I caught fire
Just stay with me lay with me
(Stay with me, lay with me)
In your eyes
Let's sleep till the sun burns out
I'm melting in your eyes (I'm melting in your eyes)
Let's sleep till the sun burns out
I'm melting in your eyes
song performed by by Used
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Fresh Endeavour
So now I've taken leave of life,
I thought you'd like to know, I still
Possess a mind in love, oh wife;
A soulful eye to catch a show of
Silent beauty – ever yours;
An ear to pick the metaphors
Of tonal dance in words you say,
Grasp a thought in verse you pray
Inside your head, bemused of mind,
Softly mournful, intertwined with
Understanding tears.
I'll drift a whisper o'er to you
To tell that I am quietly calm;
Keeping time till your adieu
To flesh, upon the carol of a
Psalm of consummation. Now!
A fresh endeavour – we're forever
One together, resting yonder,
Cross our open plane of blue.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Existential Dilemmma
Arrive with me in untainted
light. Between two threats:
life and death. Falling from
mantle, there was no surrender.
Bone-deep, I will ask you a
question. What life has given
to you and what death
has taken from you?
Read more in my eyes. You will
find the ravines of hunger. For
truth. No organic pain. Only thirst.
For a very violent rush of rains.
Ink-stained moon was willing
to cede the moonlight, even dew
to wipe out the nightmares of
your scrapped ego.
poem by Satish Verma
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I Do Not Belong
Slave to the mind
It’s hard to find
The place that I belong....
Slave to the soul
I have played my role
To find where I belong
I do not belong here
I have done payed my fare
Why can’t I leave death?
I try until my last breath
You hold me here, hoping I’ll break
The happiness I hold is oh, so fake
I’m lost truly forgotten
In this world so begotten
I think now...why Death? Why hold me here?
And he answers.....Because of your fear
(Death) If I let you out you’ll get scared
(Death) Down here you have done fared
(Death) Very well I think isn’t depression joy?
I think not for a 14 year old boy...
I will leave Death, just you wait
(Death) I had you born on that fatal date!
(Death) Friday the Thirteenth I had you born
(Death) To have you walk this land as scorned
(Death) This is why I had you made
(Death) Depression is just a black parade
You had me made to live life of hate?
With this I will retaliate
I will fight against you, Death with all my might
To get past my petty fright
I’m afraid of life you know this Death
So you dragged me here into this depth
For the better of me? To help me be safe?
Ha! Your lies are beginning to chafe
(Death) But it’s true young child I only wished to help
Silence Death! Your voice is that of a young whelp!
I shall listen no longer I’m making my escape!
And leave to to this horrible fate
(Death) You think you can leave? Just like that?
(Death) I honor your courage with a tip of my hate
(Death) But you cannot escape here....It’s in your mind
In my mind you say? So devine!
I am in control of my mind
(Death) No, your not your just a fool
A fool who is stronger than you!
(Death) Stronger than Death? I think not
(Death) And now I will leave you here to rot
I’m over my fear and I will leave here
I’m leaving now Good Bye my dear
(Death) what’s this? Your truly leaving? But depression is your life!
I shall leave this world with a thrust of my knife
(Death) The world you say? Would you really?
I would do so absent-mindedly...
(Death) But we are here in your own mind
(Death) Would you kill yourself? I can’t really find
(Death) any doubt in your words...so ill leave just fine......
I have conquered you Death you said you were stronger!
....The lesson learned is I couldn’t be wronger
Death was warning me of the hates of this world
Makes everyone I know need to hurl
A lost love, a lost hope, a lost dream
Life isn’t as easy as it once seemed
That wasn’t Death I know this now
It was my own depression and it took its bow
It did a number on me I won’t recover
Not until a find another
Person just like me so we can talk
Maybe just take a little walk
And speak of our problems so we may be
Happy just like the world may seem
I have not found where I belong
But I am content with my little song
Made me feel better knowing the truths
Knowing my mind is aged well over my youth
With this my farewell I leave you here
Hoping that you know I hold all my friends dear
Written by Lucas Howes AKA Iruuka Blackheart
poem by Iruuka Blackheart
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Trap
She was taught desire in the street,
Not at the angels' feet.
By the good no word was said
Of the worth of the bridal bed.
The secret was learned from the vile,
Not from her mother's smile.
Home spoke not. And the girl
Was caught in the public whirl.
Do you say "She gave consent:
Life drunk, she was content
With beasts that her fire could please?"
But she did not choose disease
Of mind and nerves and breath.
She was trapped to a slow, foul death.
The door was watched so well,
That the steep dark stair to hell
Was the only escaping way...
"She gave consent," you say?
Some think she was meek and good,
Only lost in the wood
Of youth, and deceived in man
When the hunger of sex began
That ties the husband and wife
To the end in a strong fond life.
Her captor, by chance was one
Of those whose passion was done,
A cold fierce worm of the sea
Enslaving for you and me.
The wages the poor must take
Have forced them to serve this snake.
Yea, half-paid girls must go
For bread to his pit below.
What hangman shall wait his host
Of butchers from coast to coast,
New York to the Golden Gate —
The merger of death and fate,
Lust-kings with a careful plan
Clean-cut, American?
In liberty's name we cry
For these women about to die.
O mothers who failed to tell
The mazes of heaven and hell,
Who failed to advise, implore
Your daughters at Love's strange door,
What will you do this day?
Your dear ones are hidden away,
As good as chained to the bed,
Hid like the mad, or the dead: —
The glories of endless years
Drowned in their harlot-tears:
The children they hoped to bear,
Grandchildren strong and fair,
The life for ages to be,
Cut off like a blasted tree,
Murdered in filth in a day,
Somehow, by the merchant gay!
In liberty's name we cry
For these women about to die.
What shall be said of a state
Where traps for the white brides wait?
Of sellers of drink who play
The game for the extra pay?
Of statesmen in league with all
Who hope for the girl-child's fall?
Of banks where hell's money is paid
And Pharisees all afraid
Of pandars that help them sin?
When will our wrath begin?
poem by Vachel Lindsay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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April, March! Soldiers Search for HUNGER MARCH - A1 Story
World has advanced in many days...
Yet in 21st Century poverty retains in umpteen ways;
Hunger glinted in his eyes...
He does begging and petty thievery, at the same time!
Cheeks were sunken and clothes were in rags but still, a crime!
Believe I swear in the name of god, my words are not lies.
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
I saw a rag picker scrounging for a coin in the garbage,
Though he is with bare foot who knows as bub, he is cute!
Owing to the troubles he met, made him mute.
He can fill the rivers with poverty's tears...
His eyes were pale and mouth opened for food cabbage!
One among is he, pleading and begging the passersby yet nobody hears.
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
The street is lighted with half naked
Bodies go begging down, the street and half fed,
From head to toe they're covered with poverty, yet
With pain and misery as their make-up set;
Hunger is present in their stomach and a rat's race!
And it is vaguely seen on their face and a food race.
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
Labourers in construction breaking the stones...
And lifting the bricks while scorching sun is the witness!
They work bodily, resembles awkward dance of a heap of bones,
The skin saturates and swallows the heat, I bet!
Leaving it dark as the midnight sky, oh! What a mess!
Their hopes are dashed; life is smashed of body’s sweat!
The Mother weeps and father yells!
Sitting in the house of poverty and what-else!
Small sister sleeps and her little brother dies and I linger;
His father only stares as he is killed by hunger...
Why doctors only cure diseases and why not
Poverty - the biggest disease of all. Is it not?
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
Every now and then in newspapers, I hear
The death of a peasant or two, oh my dear!
Unable to feed family, life has become Herculean task,
Drowned himself in melancholy, under hunger mask!
Bogged down under wheels of Pressure, not to hide...
Due to debts of treasure, he committed suicide!
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
Lot of hunger and empty bowl without food is poverty,
Not having one more dress to take bath is poverty,
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>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>READ PART 2>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
*A big NOTICE BOARD: Oops! Sorry the poem is NOT completed. This is just break time! Now read to make your reading wholesome read PART - 2
April, March! Soldiers Search for HUNGER MARCH - A2 Story
poem by Harindhar Reddy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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