Sunday, July 27, 2008

8.The Waves

Waves come roaring
To hit the rocks on the shore
With all their might
Producing sound that frightens.

Foam spread all over their lips
They keep coming back angrily
Driven by desperation,
Roaring louder and louder
Hitting harder and harder.

The rocks lie patiently
Watching the madness
And senseless waste of energy.

Waves do not realise
That patience and tolerance,
Silence and suffering
Do not necessarily mean weakness.

1 comment:

aviral said...

A total contradiction to your poem 'determination'.But it's good otherwise.