YEARS OF THE TERMITES.
They have laboured and toiled for our tomorrow,
They have been consigned to places
Criminals will promptly repent upon imagining;
Sowing seeds.
Now, God bless their souls.

The seed has grown,
Watered, it seems, by their blood.
The leaves gets greener by day,
Enriched by their sweat.
And, slowly, our lips part;
We smile.

The time keeper came and,
One after the other they slept,
Forever!

New palms went for the reins,
We did not stir much—nothing will happen.
White, brown, cream, yellow, black;
The colours of our teeth;
Would still surface as it had.
The leaves would get greener, now.

The palms with the reins proved us wrong:
The leaves turned brown, yellow and black.
The river flowed upstream; we shouted.
The have ear problems; they couldn’t hear.
Our teeth had no cause to be exhibited.

Quietly, like angry termites,
They ate the wood on which rests our feet.
Our foot now rests like a leaf in the wind;
Night is suddenly around the corner.
I pray we see tomorrow, tomorrows…

Does it really matter what i think?
if i think you would not be a good poet, does that stop you from publishing.
goodluck

Wow! its nice i think u wud make a wonderful poet, keep d flag flyin

every poet starts small.
i remeber when i first had the idea of writing, i was afraid to share it with people. i thought it was stupid.
keep it up