Throw up everything you had,
On the person next to you,
Shout out three words which are bad,
And scratch a car that’s new.
Now bump into random people,
Push them hard down onto the ground,
Claim that you had just swallowed a big beetle,
And curse loudly if they frowned.
Then dive into a clean pool,
With all your dirty clothes on,
Swim and wash the mud and dog’s stool,
And leave wearing clothes in which you were born.
You can throw a party on the main road,
Blocking all the traffic,
To aggravate you can break a billboard,
And instead display anything that’s graphic.
If these ideas look good to you,
Click here without asking for reason,
For this poem and the link you just clicked,
Will be your shortest route to Prison!
What I had to say,
I’ve already told,
I won’t repeat again,
Unless you give me gold,
Okay you’ll give?
I’ll repeat it once,
Go up and read what’s written in Bold.
The font’s so big,
I think you didn’t miss,
The fact that you should,
Never read this,
For the more you read,
The less you know,
That makes you less human,
And more of a crow.
These were the words of a great man,
Of whose great works I am a great fan,
His every poem is an inspiration,
But his existence is in my imagination.
Hence, you won’t know him,
He’s an alien to you,
But don’t feel bad,
Because he’s known by few,
And none of those who do know him,
Have walked on Earth and are a part of my dream.
This was why I asked you to not read,
Because right now I am in a deep need,
To imagine weird stuff and share them in a poem,
Then write that on a paper and burn it with a flame.
Many a times,
We are sad,
Many a times,
The World is bad,
Many a times,
We weep the tears,
Many a time,
We face our fears.
Our Dream comes true,
We are with no clue,
We live the life,
We get stabbed with knife.
Should we follow the evil,
Should we meet the devil,
Should we give up,
and Never again,
Would our hearts stop!
Once upon a time,
A poet had started to rhyme,
He wrote ten poems,
About xylem and phloems,
And then he commited a crime.
Of topics, he ran out,
Depressed, he started to shout,
But his protest went unheard,
By every man and bird,
No one cared what his despair was about.
He thus wrote down today’s date,
To decide his unknown fate,
But an idea struck him,
That took away his grim,
He was the happiest, he could bet.
Under the Sun of scorching May,
He took an ‘untaken’ way,
He thought of Frost,
In his thought he was lost,
He wrote, “Today is Wednesday”.
His poem’s name became the same,
He can’t deny he liked the game,
This is a true story,
Because he is me,
Arkadeep is his name! 😦
Money may grow on tree,
Or it may come down as Acid Rain,
But it will make your wallet thicker,
If you apply your creative brain.
YouTube is a potential platform,
That can amplify the process,
All you have to do is upload,
And profits will wash away your losses.
Look for trends that are popular,
Some of them might be viral,
Compile popular videos of that genre,
Towards success you will spiral!
You can subscribe to top creators,
Like PewDiePie and Casey,
But be careful about following others,
Since some videos could be messy.
Keep your jokes out of controversy,
Your content motivational,
Or vlog about your life,
And teach what’s foundational.
If you follow these basic rules,
As any other article would claim,
You should earn plenty from YouTube,
But if you don’t, then you should not blame.
This poem is hard to understand,
For it has no rhythm,
Poetic devices too are hard to find,
Absent Alliterations Make Men Wonder Why,
No connections between any two line,
You get fed up and say, “Yeah, fine!
Maybe I hot a hint of rhyme.”
And as soon as you guys have said that,
My ears did hear it from under the hat,
And I discontinued the crime,
That is to rhyme,
Although that was a lie,
I guess by now you understood why,
But that does not answer,
The question we began with,
If this poem has no title,
Then what its title should really be,
a blank to be filled in,
a phrase to be drilled in,
should it be left empty?
Standing still on the runway,
Hoping to get attention,
The Flight is still on the runway,
Building up quite a tension.
It was given the clearance,
Could and should have taken off,
Liked its own appearance,
Hence was trying to show off.
It had two metal wings,
The Body was all metal,
The engines were massive things,
The rudder looked like petal.
But all it had was beauty,
Its engines had no speed,
Blocking runways was its duty,
It perished in its own greed.
Slowly it started to hate itself,
Because of the things we just spoke of,
It brushed off old dust from the shelf,
And finally took off.