WHEN I WORE THE CURSE OF FATE
THIS TRAUMA I WITHHOLDEACH DAY GROWS MULTIFOLD.
SUCCESS DERIDES
AT MY COYLY MIGHT.
COVERED CAP- A -PIE
IN A MANTILLA OF DELUSION
I STAND.
PEOPLE HAVE STARTED TAKING ME
A CANKER.
SITUATIONS WANT ME ALAMORT
AND MY HEART QUAILS.
SURE, SUCCESS NEVER SETS METE
BUT STILL ONE IS BOUND TO FIND IT.
MOREOVER, I HAD WORN THAT AMULET OF HARD WORK
WHICH WAS SUPPOSED TO BRING SUCCESS
TO MY DOORSTEP.
HOW MENIAL AN ACT OF SUCCESS.
EXPLAIN! I CANNOT
HOW IT HAS DISFIGURED MY DREAMS
AND BROUGHT ME BLEMISH AND INJURY.
SURE, SUCCESS DOES NOT LIE IN HARD WORK
OR APTITUDE
BUT, IS A SLAVE OF FATE.
Poetry by sania
Read 1182 times
Written on 2007-01-09 at 11:34
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