I came across these poems that I wrote when I was sixteen. Gave up writing poetry before I joined university. Don’t know what happened. I can’t even recall what inspired me to write. I find the poems funny. I find the choice of words funny. But la, I’m sharing them nonetheless!

Your Footstep Sounds

My heart is but an inferno
Burning in desire
Writhing with a rhythm
Anguished by fire

Alone I stand under a stale tree
As autumn wind veers around
All my senses await
Your footstep sounds

Cursed Love

With my weak, wobbly hands
I pick up a pen to write
Write to tell what I feel
And write to belittle my fright

With my weak, wobbly hands
I pick up the paper to read
Read the words from my heart
And read the words which came freed

With my weak, wobbly hands
I now tear the paper apart
Tear it to suppress my desire
And tear it to torment my heart

With my weak, wobbly hands
I wish to write to my love
To tell what I feel
To shrove

With my weak, wobbly hands
Instead my heart I amerce
For the crime
And for the curse

Pieces of Shattered Mirror

What are some
But parts of mirror so shattered
Freely to hurt and bruise
Those willing, daring hands so rattled
To recollect and bond
The pieces to create
A thing very strong
But what are they
Just some parts of mirror so shattered
Ne’er to reflect fine
Faults, neither yours nor mine
Hither to hurt and bruise
Those willing hands who do find use
What are some
But parts of mirror so shattered
Parts of mirror so scattered

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Dedicated to a kind soul.