Aged twelve…. in eighth class, <br />Fingers spread to some words. <br />Tried to rhyme with honey, <br />And piled them one by one. <br />Can’t say this exactly, <br />But almost fifteen ones. <br /> <br />I was no Shakespeare nor one among them. <br />And within tiny imaginations, <br />Laid the bricks, the metals, the cement…so on <br />And built my Golden pillars, one by one. <br /> <br />Truly an underdog, for sure, I was, <br />Covered shy, my poems, with a blanket <br />And unfolded my teacher, what I hid… <br />'is this mockery or a crockery? ” <br /> <br />Hearing, the world stood still, <br />Chasing and haunting me, <br />Shattering infinite, <br />my small heart, piece by piece. <br /> <br />Red curtains, fell in front. <br />burning Golden pillars. <br />Losing all ambitions <br />to be a Robert frost. <br /> <br />years passed, eleven years. <br />He came into my dreams <br />whispered into my ears……. <br />“Oh my boy, Leave your past, <br />Suture your wounds, <br />And fill your heart.” <br /> <br />The sparrow flew in front, <br />And the new Frost arose, <br />my courage came again. <br />from Sahara's they came, <br />started writing again, <br />painting bricks, one by one <br />building Golden pillars, <br />being the Robert Frost.. <br /> <br />©Anees Rahman<br /><br />Anees Rahman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-new-robert-frost/
