I want to write
but don't know about what.
Pain? I've got lots.
Food? I just eat and never touch the pots.
God? Some believe there's many, some believe there's one.
Shopping? It's what I do.
Work? Kiddies, I love you!
Sleep? It's in my beanbag these days.
My parents? Love me always.
My phone? Never does anyone of interest call.
My heart? Holds all these things and doesn't let me fall.
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Author:
buzzybee4you (
Offline) - Published: September 10th, 2023 11:32
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 7
- User favorite of this poem: Soman Ragavan.
Offline)
Comments2
Hi buzzy
When you want to write do it
Look what came from this
A well structured enjoyable read
Keep em coming
Thank you for your feedback. Genuinely appreciated!
My comments on the poem "The human heart” by buzzybee4you
“My phone? Never does anyone of interest call.”
It is amazing that the mobile has turned into something that has profound effects on us. Over time we accumulate many contacts in the Phone book. Little by little our contacts stop calling us. Though we still see those names and numbers on our phone, the people have stopped calling for some reason. This turns us lonelier. It is sad to see so many names of people you know, but they don’t care to call. Thus, the mobile has turned into an instrument that increases our loneliness or sadness, though it still has value by enabling us to call for help when needed.
“Water, water everywhere
Nor any drop to drink…”
S. T. Coleridge: “The rime of the ancient mariner.” (1772-1834)
So many names on the mobile, no one calls…
I also have a poem called “The heart, that wonder…” on this site.
Have a nice day. Soman Ragavan. 11 September, 2023. //
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