By Tahreem Asghar
When all the yesterdays are gone
And you hear my voice on the radio
Miss me then
When in the future you read my words
And you understand me
Miss me then
Miss me when you see the pace I used to walk on
Miss me in the starless night
And when the first drop of rain hits the ground
Miss me when I’m gone
By Momina Hassan
Since thou remain nescient to the enigma of embrace
Camaraderie, astray amidst envy
A bouquet of wrath sails the universe
Veracity spiritually camouflaged
Beyond horizons a shallow insanity lingers the banquet of winter
Oh, the farce of integrity!
Regards of awe, rifling among cryptic voyages
Reverberates of venom jubilant upon victory
Mortal ravine of rue
Hailing thy advent is a ruthless aura, serenaded by silent amber
A tequila expanse reveals a vague confession
Misery seeks forgiveness, ferocity loathes its deeds
Thine virtue, however amnestied
Poems forever
Robert Frost achieved huge popularity, winning the Pulitzer Prize four times and declaiming at JFK’s 1961 inauguration aged eighty-six. He had written a new poem for the occasion but, with the sun half blinding him, found he couldn’t read it, and so recited his 1942 poem ‘The Gift Outright’ from memory to rapturous applause.
By Robert Frost
The land was ours before we were the land’s.
She was our land more than a hundred years
Before we were her people. She was ours
In Massachusetts, in Virginia,
But we were England’s, still colonials,
Possessing what we still were unpossessed by,
Possessed by what we now no more possessed.
Something we were withholding made us weak
Until we found out that it was ourselves
We were withholding from our land of living,
And forthwith found salvation in surrender.
Such as we were we gave ourselves outright
(The deed of gift was many deeds of war)
To the land vaguely realizing westward,
But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced,
Such as she was, such as she would become.
Compiled by SK