Football, football, football… what more is there in the minds of millions of football fans in America? Even if the most beautiful exotic dancer comes in front of me and dance naked most men will say…”Step away dear, let me watch the playoffs”. And the games are great too, every second matters to the most. With precise calculations every drive and play planned and the vengeance of warriors these players fight in the field and once the game is over they all walk away shaking hands. It is fantastic to see fans yell and scream at each other during the games. The bets and the costumes, the winning screams and the loser’s disappointments. There are people who takes their teams loses very personally. Some even talk to psychics about games. Many don’t talk to their wives and kids. However at the end of the day… it is all a laughing matter. We are all beautiful people inside and outside isn’t it?
This poem, written about some thoughts I had a while ago. This is written from something I recorded one day while driving to work. Before I deleted those recordings from my voice recorder I wrote it down and wrote this poem out of it.
Have a great week ahead of you all.
The City Of San Francisco.
Gather around are pheasants in the season of fall,
Oh’ the fear in their eyes, from fiery bullets hiding,
And the fun of the hunters enjoying pain and death.
The golden rays of sun all around scattered,
The bare naked branches of trees stood shy-less,
Like love lost lovers in the awe perplexed.
The grass under the shoes, stubborn and strong,
May be in anger at the dry cold wind,
In some unknown fury blown from north.
The golden rays with the morning dust disappeared,
The sun looked like a big cotton ball in the middle of clouds,
Darkness in insomnia wandered between minds of the unloved.
When thinking about the unloved,
Could only wander in the darkness of streets,
And wish hands not empty but by another squeezed.
When pushing away those days with love filled,
As days of illusions, mind first regains pleasantness,
Then when known about emptiness, in eternal sadness buries.
Oh’ in sadness of the lost glory mind think,
Did time wrote the meaning of love,
Using the beauty of dusks seen?
As what after the dusks I see,
Is darkness creeping through every creation senses can feel.
Oh’ illusion indeed is love as feelings comes and goes,
Illusion like the mind where it births and grows,
All knows about the existence of mind though not seen.
But love through five senses fills the mind,
And touches deep inside each others minds,
So I know the loving days are not over yet,
Then don’t I see darkness anymore as my own love filled the air.
©RIAZAHAMMED.COM. All Rights Reserved. 2007.
hi im kala i saw you had visited my site. thats a really nice poem its really good.
~*~KALA~*~