Wasted

Somewhere between aspiration and expectation,

The river of life got dammed.

The stale water is pungent now,

Ripe to be fished by the powerful

To fulfill their ulterior motivation.

A bud that did not flower, never came to fruition,

Lost forever to humanity, a malodorous fragrance, putrid,

Wasted blood caked dry by the blazing sun.

As the hypocrites  responsible for the mayhem rejoice,

Shouting to the high heavens for the glory of the martyred,

Somewhere a lonely heart weeps for the wasted soul.

Author: pranabaxom

Poetry is my passion. I am not a methodical writer. I have no set topics to write about. What I feel, perceive, think about, I will like to share in this blog. I open my mind to the world. Like the weather, sometimes my poems are cloudy, sometimes stormy. I always like to see sunshine streaming through the leaves of trees, so I hope I can share some of those sunshine with my readers.