One Among Us (A Honourable Poem Dedicated To Workers)
Thank you Doctors Nurse and all Civil workers
One among us ...
The doctors who help us,
The workers who work for us.
The cleaners who clean for us,
The police who save us.
We can't live without them.
They are one among us,
Who always helps us.
Please do respect them.
We should always respect Docter,
They are our good health's Factor.
The hard and smart working nurses,
They help us get rid of all the curses.
Fireworkers always come for help at first,
And so they are always the best.
They are the ones who work for us,
They will never take rest,
At times even skip breakfast.
But never stop working to save us.
They are god's another form
They are the inspiration storm
They are always in charge
They work for us to recharge
They are the root of the human tree,
Don't lose them then you will fall free.
Don't accuse them for a death, it's beyond the limit,
Appreciate them for the save, it's their talent.
- Karun
One Among Us - A Honourable Poem Dedicated To Workers
About the Creator
Karun
🌿✨ Karun, a poet weaving emotions into verses, embarked on the journey of words to unearth the beauty of feelings. In the delicate dance of ink and emotion, my poetry delves into the nexus of the human heart and the natural world.✍️
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6/12/24
6/12/24 I am writing on a screen made of lost words and the day is Wednesday (I’m usually off on Wednesdays) / The hair on my shins is tickling me out of every trance (the ones that happen inevitably every fourteen minutes or so) and I have never been so in love with the life I am living (I love you) / I could be anywhere outside of these walls but I could never be without the breakage they leave behind / Little flames of devotion keep our shelves lit through the night (we’re both scared of the dark) (I love you) / I’ll tell you the debris is something my mother gave us so we can stay here until sunrise / but your hands tell me you will not be the one to pick it up (we can leave all of this behind us) / Outside is warm enough without glass-trapped intimacy a fingertip’s length away– what does it mean to be envious of her transparency? / What does it mean to be furious that mine is smudged with black ink, tarnished with oil and grease? / There are a thousand writers in my grave not yet dug and each and every one of them is begging for your love (I love you).
By Olivia Dodge7 days ago in Poets
Letter to our Queer & Trans Youth
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By F Cade Swanson4 days ago in Pride
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