How poetic can you be? Write a short poem about what you see!

FIRST SPROUTS

Ever since earth was dig out, plough was common tool

Seeds of love were sowed , with great desire

Green shoots were planted with our own hands

In row of humanity, and morality , near to fences

Ain’t pathetic to see the world; a wrenched border

How men have crooked ? twisted their minds ,

Growing seeds grown into wild weeds

Coffee soils are now unfertile , left barren!

What else could be seen more ?

Ain’t we realized the exploitation

Devastation caused in abode of emerald

Foliage are burnt , and turned into grey ashes !

Ain’t we forgotten our first sprouts, alive once--

Blooming from our heart, nurtured in nature

New beginnings stem from the root of our civilizations

And every new born was nourished under tree !

This image shouts

profound praises

in silent language.

Translation:

We are never finished.

We have infinite new beginnings.

But nothing is ever finished.

To everything

there is a season

and a season

and a season

and a season....

You,

my dear,

are,

indeed.

A flowering flower,

from a perfect seed.

They call them weeds

Just little green things,

But everything has a purpose.

Appearances dwell past the surface

🌿 CALLING FOR 🌿

In the mess of our world.

Concrete walls everywhere in every road. Blocks choked me that what I thought.

Fake materialistic manners.

Souls also lose their positive powers.

A silent scream in my chest.

Calling for the beauty of greenery the best. Limitless green land.

Full of stories happy not sad.

With boundless walking or even running.

The heaven now in my hand is coming.

A feeling no one can explain. For it I will spend my whole life just calling.

✨Marwa ✨

6/1/2019

И даже снежной ночью спят ростки

Во сне любых надежд обидной стужи,

Заколосятся летом снова колоски,

И облака поднимутся из лужи.

Воскреснут хороводы над рекой,

И теплый день найдет свои качели,

Поэт,опять склонившись над строкой,

Услышит среди гула нежность трели.

О зелени я здесь.И в январе

Цветут кусты всей радугой палитры,

Наполнив дом мечтою о заре,

Нирвану будней мифами от Мирты...