|
Poets’
Corner
Poetry
- A good poet is someone
who manages, in a lifetime of standing out in thunderstorms, to be struck by
lightning five or six times; a dozen or two dozen times and he is great.
—Randall Jarrell
- Immature poets imitate;
mature poets steal.
—T.S.Eliot
- Deprivation is for me
what daffodils were for Wordsworth.
—Philip Larkin
- Poetry is the record of
the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds.
—Percy Bysshe Shelley
- Writing free verse is
like playing tennis with the net down.
—Robert Frost
Nights of
remembrance
By Bahadur
Hussain
You’re
not here and I am not dying,
tripping
down the wooden stairs,
The
squeaking noises of the lost,
They,
break the silence,
every
night…
But
these nights have become nights of remembrance,
the
house is empty...
Shadows
in the darkness of the walls,
That
can only paint on themselves; dreams,
That
takes you with them,
Erasing
the way back,
the
nights...
They
come again; they’re coming and going...
Tripping
down the wooden stairs,
The
sweat, like blood, falls on every step...
The
noises, again… squeaking…
You’re
not here and I am not dying…
Fingers
on the floor, broken nails, bleeding…
The
ticking clock, the couch, my body’s cold,
Strands
of light enter through the broken shutters,
It’s
already late, I have to go to work,
Sometimes
I wonder… Do I ever sleep?
Love
suicide
By Anwar
Wafi Hayat
It
is not possible
For
me
To
hate you!
But,
It
is possible
That
I bury
The
corpse of your love
In
my heart’s graveyard
With
My
uncountable
Desires–
Unfulfilled;
Committing
Love
suicide…
We
won’t forget
By Sana
Khan
We
would never go there where the sky is blue,
We
would never go there where wild flowers grow,
And
where heaven’s mysteries abound.
We
would just hang amidst cryptic time,
And
watch the faltering hours pass by,
Or
wonder about the distant past.
No
whispering winds will sing sweet songs,
Nor
dancing leaves sound chimes,
Yes,
blue skies we will have above,
But
the golden hues won’t be forgotten with time.
A strife
By Mehreen
Elahi
Quagmire
of my thoughts,
dragging
me inside
into
the deep obscurity
inside
me...
Both
conflicting and messing up.
My
dismal eyes
bearing
the brunt...
Liquefying
themselves
Dementia
By
Nazish Nawab
O’er
the hills,
The
cloud cries
I
search meanwhile,
For
your bright eyes.
The
memories of your lips,
Twisting
into a smile
Are
washed away,
By
the waters of the Nile.
The
fading lights,
The
destructed meadow,
The
whole night depicts,
My
aimless shadow.
Death
By Hafsa
Khawaja
In
a still night,
Death
billows through shriveled leaves,
Ceasing
to hear his plights and pleas,
Heaves
itself,
The
soul from the shroud and cover of skin,
Which
now lays paralyzed;
The
beats of his heart, strongly seized,
By
fear of fate,
His
breath stops....freezes,
The
time has withered,
With
his deeds and actions,
His
end is entwined,
Like
those past him and the rest of mankind,
They
will now, in the court of the Merciful,
Plead
his case and save his face;
The
end has prevailed,
The
body settled in the ground,
Wealth
and material,
Left
behind and lost in the Earth’s mound,
Returned
has the spirit to the Creator,
And
the loved ones stay busy,
Because
just like him,
To
the world and life’s needs, they have to cater.
—Compiled
by N.A.
Kindly
send in
your
contributions at:
uspoetscorner@gmail.com
|
