the ugly writers

The Reaper

Of all the blooms I see All I can do is dream and write about you in my poetry

The Reaper

 

I don’t interpret the language stars speak
Nor do I know the names
Of all the blooms I see
All I can do is dream and write
about you in my poetry
There was a day long ago
When we smiled easily
And loved like there was not a care in the world
We created a new shore for a
Universe of our own
But now Time, reddened with blood
Lies still, touching my feet
Now I fear nothing
Nor do I collect shells from the shore
Because now I sit down with a scythe in my hands
To harvest green regrets
I cherished a long long time
Fears once so inflated
Have lost all meanings
I wander if fears have any meaning at all

If you enjoyed The Reaper, read previous works from Maryam Viqar at The Ugly Writers:

the ugly writers

the ugly writers

the ugly writers

the ugly writers

And catch her on Instagram at Myrapoems

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Maryam H. Viqar

A seeker, dreamer, scribbler, reader, writing poetry as musings of a restless mind....and yes 'the sight of the stars makes me dream' too....

Articles: 53

24 Comments

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