|
Poets'
Corner
Poetry
and History
The distinction between
historian and poet is not in the one writing prose and the other
verse... the one describes the thing that has been, and the other a kind of
thing that might be. Hence poetry is something more philosophic and of
graver import than history, since its statements are of the nature rather of
universals, whereas those of history are singulars.
--Aristotle, Poetics
The river
does flow…
By Hajra
Malik
On
the edge of the hill, where the heather does grow,
Where
we climbed once to peep at the valley below,
Where
bells of our gay childish laughter had rung,
Where
the lavender had swayed and the mountain streams sprung,
I
went back there in the cold and the frost,
To
look for the tender young soul I had lost,
In
the tall, grassy woods, where the cuckoo did crow,
I
found not a thing, but the river does flow…
Lying
in the grass and splashing in the streams,
So
many games and wishes and dreams,
I
had forgot how much we had shared,
Hand
in hand, down at the valley we had stared,
Was
it love? I had never worried nor cared…
When
I went back to wander where the heather did grow,
I
found not a thing, but the river does flow…
So
why do I now tramp up the mountain path?
Where
I am followed by mystic souls of our past,
In
rings they dance, cheer and hide behind the trees,
From
across the rivers and mountains and seas,
Misty,
faded versions of our childhood, run and dart,
And
call you back to kindle my heart,
And
though I have tramped long, high and low,
I
found not a thing, but the river does flow…
I
have looked and yearned for as long as I could,
The
rains have arrived in the old, empty wood,
So
still in the valley is soil and stone,
Your
echoes and whispers shall follow me home,
Hoping…just
hoping, with time I might forget,
The
glittering mornings and the glorious sunsets,
With
heavy step and heavy heart, time shall go slow,
Yet
down in the valley, the river shall flow…
Unhealed
mystery
By Kanwal
Salim
Amazing
weather, with an aura of the time,
Takes
you to the winds of the forgotten shrine,
Breathtaking
devastation of the solitary souls,
Time
wrapped up the unhealed mystery,
In
the divine shores of the eternal history!
Never to
Return
By Yuserah
Farrukh
With
trembling hands,
Pale
lips
He
gave the sacred soil
A
final kiss.
No
word of regret or grief,
Of
misery or disbelief
Would
the faithful heart utter…
He
lay there still
Smiling…
Enriching
the earth with his blood
His
rifle gleaming,
With
a last look
At
his trophy -
His
foe destroyed…
He
closes his eyes
To
live for eternity!
The
decider
By Sania
Irfan
Soaring
hard against the winds
Flapping
hard its fragile wings
This
tiny butterfly paves its way
Pushing
itself on a journey so perplexing
Turbulently,
the harsh winds blow
No
idea I have, where to go
No
path, no way, no course, no trail
No
means, no mode, is all I know
I
thought I'd find myself a way
"Your
efforts yield fruit" as they say
But
at times in life you lose track
And
you need divine help, from going astray
Oh
lord, hold my wings in your hands
And
show them the direction you know is best
Let
my fate be decided by The Knower of all
Let
it not be ruined, let it see the crest
For
I know not the petty things,
That
in the veils of your divination, remain camouflaged
For
better or for worse, they count in our existence
And
we foolish beings run after some fantasy instance
Believing
them to be my destination
I
chase the colours and the flowers,
And
I so hate this harsh blowing wind,
That
changes my course 'n' overpowers
And
living in my oblivion, I care not
It
might turn me in some safe direction
For,
after all, it comes from The Ultimate Decider,
Who
knows everything to perfection
So
before you O Lord
The
imprudent butterfly, capitulates itself
to
get the best , that's written for me
and
meekly requests you to
Hold
my wings in Your hands,
And
show them the direction you deem best
Let
my fate be decided by The Knower of all
Let
it not be ruined, let it see the crest
--Compiled
by N.A.Kindly send in your contributions at:uspoetscorner@gmail.com
|
