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'Sorrow is Wisdom'
"...
axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses: We
read fine things but never feel them to the full until we have gone the same
Steps as the Author --I know this is not plain; you will know exactly my
meaning when I say, that now I shall relish Hamlet more than I ever have
done-... Until we are sick, we understand not;-in fine, as Byron says,
"Knowledge is sorrow," and I go on to say that "Sorrow is
Wisdom" - and further for aught we can know for certainty!"
-John
Keats in his letter to John Hamilton Reynolds (May 3, 1818)
The
Passing Cloud
By Muhammad
Awais Aftab
O!
The passing cloud!
Tell
me
Have
you brought my beloved's love note?
Is
your dark, gloomy colour
The
colour of her thoughts?
These
drops you sprinkle on me
Are
they the tears from her eyes?
These
circulating birds you escort
Do
they echo the songs she sings for me?
The
cool hasty wind brushing my face
Are
they the kisses she has sent for me?
Torment
me not, O Cloud!
I
can feel her presence in you
The
way you touch the strings of my heart
Evoking
a music, so sweet and sad
Has
not my lover taught you this?
And
yet again
You
remind me of my beloved's lips
Smiling,
stunning but silent
Speak
not, if you so wish
But
drench me then -
Drench
me in your rain
Drench
me in my lover's tears!
A
Wandering Soul
By Rabia G.
Saddal
Thy
is but a wandering soul,
Revealing
thyself in stones unturned.
Escaping
through the mist so cold,
Afflicting
all who are still unwounded.
Crying
so loud for the silver sky,
Watching
the moon soar so high.
Lying
there on the silver path,
While
quietly does darkness pass by.
Silence
was what filled me then,
And
I thought about the poor sun.
Never
shall it shine again,
As
the dominance could never be undone.
Oh
yes, there will be no hope,
Oh
yes, thy heart in dark will soak.
Forever,
forever will there be no light,
Never,
never will the sun be in sight.
It's
frozen, dead, dark and gloom,
Hope
has gone and come doth doom!
Untitled
Abbas
Khattak
I
am on my way to a valley-
Days
are long
And
nights short
Going
to a place
Where
I was born
And
where my body will be buried.
Where
the troops once marched.
Bullets
and bullets fired in tons,
Where
a wind blew once
And
happiness faded away forever.
Going
to a place
From
where I originate.
My
eyes still weeping,
My
heart still breathing,
My
body, freezing,
But
my feet refusing
Resisting
entering the gate
To
the valley
To
the place
Where
I was born
And
where I will be buried...
To An
Angel Who Wept...
By Hussain
Kazmi
An
angel is weeping in heaven,
His
wings have been clipped,
He
mourns for freedom,
That
was never bestowed him,
He
wishes for imagination,
And
the power to dream,
His
envy is the race of humans,
Unrestrained
in their fantasies,
Then
weep not, Good Angel!
What
you were never given,
Has
been taken away from us too!
Can't I
Feel Not...
By Sana
Khan
Can't
I feel not
All
the things they say;
That
stab my heart?
Can't
I hear not
Their
silent whispers
Of
pain and deceit?
Can't
I see not
The
hatred behind
Their
false smiles?
Can't
I smell not
The
echoing laughter
Mingled
with doubt and fright?
Can't
I say not
What
leaves me awake,
All
morn and night?
Can't
I just be like those
Who
kill and burn,
Without
a sting of guilt?
Can't
I be myself
Yet
not be myself at all and live?
Will I...
By Saad
Ehsan
Will
I ever be able to extinguish my hearts fire?
Will
I ever be able to seize my emotions, my desires?
Will
I ever be able to grasp my fading joy?
Will
I ever be able to forget my friends, my times, when I was a boy?
Will
I ever be able to sweep the tears I cry?
Will
I ever be able to forget my past and once again try?
Will
I ever be able to win?
Will
I ever become the best?
Will
I ever be able to reach my destinations?
Will
I ever succeed in my quest?
Will
I?
--Compiled
by N.A.
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