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Birthday (Free verse) by Dhanesh M Kumar The seconds cumulate to hours;
And hours then to days and months
finally to the dearth of time.
As the year moribund like a morning dew.
Today it is just another day
But they say it is my birthday
For me it doesnât count
As far as the bird sings
in the radiance of the dawn.
But one or two grey hairs
In the midst of those dolled up greens
Make me rather shrink
Promulgating those torturous thoughts
That many such years make my age.
Up the ladder:
The Demonbaker's Death
Down the ladder:
Do you fit in-to the dark?
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 4.6666665
Posted: March 15, 2006 6:33 AM PST; Last modified: March 15, 2006 6:33 AM PSTWeighted score: 4.9602656 Overall Rank: 8573 Comments:
Clearer than some of your others. How is "a" morning dew moribund (on the point of death, but moribund also has the connotation of stagnancy, a lack of vitality, and dew, in contrast, changes to something else). Also that 'moribund' line isn't a complete thought, it just flops around limply.
I think I see what you're saying here, but it seems a rather wordy way to say that age doesn't matter, and, yet, it does. 140 view(s)
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Stanza 1 was a little dry...it works, but isn't spectacular. Same for the first line of stanza 2.
Other than that it's alright.