Shreya's Poetry

They say we're on the same boat Floating slow but steady, A piece of nail in the heap of straw Doesn't matter what,they tell us to be ready; I say maybe not,just a fine line We're not on the same boat no not anymore; Just a bit different yet stuck in the same salt chuck The same blue with the mighty roar. Few peekaboo from the sturdy submarine Up or down swimming like a whale; Some wave smiling on the double deck Raining or not they have always have a tale. Some roam on the motorways Falling sometimes they seldom fail, Swimming in their grumpy face They love to feel the gale. A lot are on the wooden boats Rowing through the waters night or day, Scrambling till they reach the shore Smiling at the moonlight all along the dark bay. Can't you see the paper boats Wet and shaggy now shakily torn apart Bits and pieces yeah lying all around Look into their eyes,how time heals their heart And then there are those who fight until they die, The s...

Lost in the crowds of the busy street Misty eyes as they rung the final bell Turn back time where they used to meet, Forgotten lanes lead to the pain of hell. Remember those barren paths you left behind? How they flourish the way they never happened before, Imagine those moments that you never captured? How they put a smile even when you thought it was too hard! They took him instead of her Oh my dreaded tracks,you love to fade Flames so hot they took him afar Mourning peace bestowed upon the dead.   Busy streets,cars still go on, Miles apart they left me a bit torn.

The same old books we've read before The same old chapter flipping back and forth, The same old words we've heard before The same old endings on the verge of henceforth. Like that stone on the table unturned Dried tears on the pillowcase, so sordid Hidden regrets smirk at the lessons learned Glistening shadows so well hid! Calm and lifeless on a Saturday morning , A bit too late to figure it out Bygone days,they come back with a little ping That's all they are always talking 'bout. Black smiles smeared on the lofty fences, Glaring at the drizzle through my misty lenses.