Poem – Soul of the Age

‘Art’ flies, and ‘Form’ in exile mourns.

i sing to the critics (beg their awful silence and inquires to craft ‘sublime’ and fill that vacant space) 


body of poesy has changed various forms: 

And so its norms, 

i pray to the heaven: 

to inspire my words with gentle heat; 

that could turns the muses

to dance.

I (the poet) 

speak only truth

and avoid ridiculous ‘rant’

but this Art is now

‘a slower way being dead’

By poorly phrasing

such unheard rhymes

that batters and mocks

soul of the age, 

and bless nothing but rage.



About भण्डारी2013

Has a reflective and idealistic types of personality. Loves to participate in Social activities. Extremely loyal by nature. Laid back unless a strongly held value is threatened and a talented writer too.
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