Participate in the 3rd Season of STORYMIRROR SCHOOLS WRITING COMPETITION - the BIGGEST Writing Competition in India for School Students & Teachers and win a 2N/3D holiday trip from Club Mahindra
Participate in the 3rd Season of STORYMIRROR SCHOOLS WRITING COMPETITION - the BIGGEST Writing Competition in India for School Students & Teachers and win a 2N/3D holiday trip from Club Mahindra

Shreya Arora

Abstract


5.0  

Shreya Arora

Abstract


Paths We Strode

Paths We Strode

2 mins 13.9K 2 mins 13.9K

You opened your eyes,

realizing what you did.

Was it ignorance

or a conscience bliss?

Suddenly all made sense,

bloody choices,

Their voices screamed pick me pick me

and pride howled like a lion,

Yet missed what's seen by the sheep.


You see yourself doing nothing of chosen,

but enveloped in self pity and loathing.

Your pack, there for you no longer,

surrounded by empty gestures, tensed pauses and uncertainties.

Your pack starves while jackals and hyenas pounce on every bits of meat.

Even sheep laugh in their baaaaa___

and no longer hide,

As the lion they once used to fear, forgot to hunt for skins and hides.


His coat no longer golden flame but now a dull bloodless pale.

Desperate for help but frightened to be seen helpless.

Felt dejected , as pleas for help got rejected.

Once a proud lion pranced the green,

Volunteered to bring carnage for his pack.

Skilled and effortless in its stance,

his paws gripping tight ,

Like a ghost lurking in the sea of grass ,unseen and deadly.

Come winter , finding treats got hard.

It turned desperate giving up his art .


A ghost which would now break a twig, rustle the grass,

no longer a shadow , the unseen threat, the king of carcass.

As the ghoul now turned clumsy, laughed others haaahaaahaaaaa___.

The pack with soaring hopes ,

met with the disturbed red eyed lion.

Filled their bellies with crickets , moth and nasty crows .

He loved hunting, but his esteem hurt, the art mastered was now forgotten,

self doubts hanging ,

I can't as others say and as my heart seems to know well or is it just jitters?

His insides burned when it was time.

Weariness of thoughts makes your head heavy,

Yet you collect yourself to fulfill your duty.


Rate this content
Log in

More english poem from Shreya Arora

Similar english poem from Abstract