Now for the Vagabond

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a Poem written for my upcoming book. I am still working on this Poem and would make some changes before publishing in my next book "SHADES & VERSES". you can visit my blog - to read few poems from my recently published book.

Submitted: January 31, 2012

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Submitted: January 31, 2012



So call troth of the mutiny laden vagrant,

In the cycling moves in defense of his pondering

Somewhere from the aloofness of this unsung tyrant,

And the tearing and burning lumbago is domineering.

The colors one by one and slowly despairing

Bounded from the earth and timed by the sky;

Darkness is still haunting in the ageing blues,

Ponderings and hopes will never die and high.

Do sometimes those heart tries and eyes lie?

A vagabond rusted the folios of destined looks;

Dilemma out of all the lost fortunes survive,

And he denies, sometime fabricates and sometime cooks

Some justice delayed and provided though out of books,

Perennial nights and real out-coming overlooked;

When the thumping stops the elusive vagabond speaks,

Sometimes he sneaks behind those shadowy deserted brooks.

Thoughts nurtured and heat triggered hard on the ice;

The evidences are blown to ashes, never captured;

The Nights and the moon slaughtered, they rise,

Who trapped those day lights and the nights raptured

Love today is frustrated, agonized and always butchered

That dirty ragamuffin thundered his highs and lows,

And some one unknown to this territory ventured;

Tough habitat we grow; Blow by blow he slows.

An ultimate reason always ends with a question

Never answered though, crucified circumstances and battered

Some beatitudes are expectorant of my life’s vague illusion

And my deportment supposedly ignored and vehemently filtered;

I know the gloaming which cannot be altered,

And the falsehood outside and within the pulse;

The Faience though cared until now somehow cracked,

The oppressed is now my fate and impulse;

We for the Milky Way and many more,

Compassionate and affirmative for the life it holds;

Their Jingoism – but life it’s you who bore,

Long journey for me and sometimes I ascend

Hooligan out in the wild and circumstances pretend,

The bubble of life burst, satire all versed;

But what is for those critics premises left?

Workaholics- after the dying slaves we are all cursed,

Lady – Motivation is now over ruled and sold,

And the vagabond of yesterday frozen again lost;

Only thing now to boast is the gold,

Nymph – The fractured soul after some uninhibited love.

I have recently published a book " I AM DIRTY; I NEED WASHING". Please visit my blog more.

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