Poems forever
‘Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world...
Soft! now to my mother...
Let me be cruel, not unnatural;
I will speak daggers to her, but use none...
Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2
A flame that dried down its aim
By Anam Tehreem
My feet scrape as I swirl by my beloved’s grave
A grave, as still as the heart not brave
A heart, which burns in its own flame
A flame that has dried down its aim
Not heard I might be, not heard of I may
More dark than darkness, with colours that glow gay
Still shall dance till the blood, that oozes from these scraped soles
Kiss the child cradling among the green wings and opens whole
Comes outta dirt with a flower’s bloom
Though it may not be very soon
Ages may pass but endure shall I
With not even a second of sigh
For my beloved may have a heart that’s dead
But is not mine enough for that
The grains of sand, brown and gray
Dance along as my clothing sways
Telling me something that must be ignored
Of that I am yet again assured
For the heart of the one that I had loved
Was in the hands of Him who lives above
Would I have just bent my knees
Before my lips were even kissed by my pleas
My dance would have reached His heart,
Even though, it was yet to start
Drops of red went past my eyes
With a still heart, with a painful sigh
A heart as still as the grave within
An aim that dried its flame wherein
With brave wings she flies
By Sundus Riaz Abbasi
Higher and higher she soars,
To touch the limitless skies.
With the setting sun,
Her spirit never dies.
Neither gives up nor quits,
Her eyes, that’s where, the hope lies.
She isn’t afraid of the dark,
Near, she knows, is the sunrise.
Having all her strength,
And a gleam in her eyes.
A solitary skylark she is,
With brave wings she flies.
Where is my tea, if at all?
By Muhammad Ibrahim Abdullah
To you, yes, I may appear a man balked
At the idea unable to grapple, shocked
That I can make my own tea
That I can mix water, leaves, and milk
And make Lipton as fine as silk
But is it as simple as it appears to be?
See, to me that doesn’t appear easy
In fact, the whole notion makes me queasy
Of going in the kitchen
O’, that odorous midden
Where roaches roam under sink and stone
Where house-cats devour rodents’ bone
And besides, sister small, brother tall
Where is my tea, if at all?
The one I asked for some time ago at six?
You told me you would get it soon
You’ve been telling me that since noon
Eight hours and I haven’t had my fix
So when I ask for tea, please
Give it to me, some tea, please
Can you do that, brothers and sisters?
Compiled by SK
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