Birth Of Rope

A dangling rope is a relative to the unknown,
From the absorption of heat and cold the rope is alone;
Jostled by the windy weather, a bit of string is enough
To relish the conduct of war, the machine always rough.

A rope inhabited me from the start, and the end,
I must work towards a safer future to backbend;
The stringing of life with life applies a fortune,
This mania may be lucky or not, like abortion.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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