Poems forever
By William Ernest Henley
Friends . . . old friends . . .
One sees how it ends.
A woman looks
Or a man tells lies,
And the pleasant brooks
And the quiet skies,
Ruined with brawling
And caterwauling,
Enchant no more
As they did before.
And so it ends
With friends.
Friends . . . old friends . . .
And what if it ends?
Shall we dare to shirk
What we live to learn?
It has done its work,
It has served its turn;
And, forgive and forget
Or hanker and fret,
We can be no more
As we were before.
When it ends, it ends
With friends.
Friends . . . old friends . . .
So it breaks, so it ends.
There let it rest!
It has fought and won,
And is still the best
That either has done.
Each as he stands
The work of its hands,
Which shall be more
As he was before? . . .
What is it ends
With friends?
By Esha Bakht
Let’s behold the raindrops
In the trees
How it helps them to grow tall and wide
Let’s behold the raindrops
In the leaves
How beautiful it looks after a musical drizzle
Let’s behold the raindrops
In the stream
How it changes into a mighty river
By Hiba Tahir
Alone, the voice echoed,
Forsaken and frightened, I added.
There were people,
All chatting and celebrating.
The whistles and claps,
The screams of appreciation.
Alone, but it was
The show, the temptation to exaggerate.
To profess achievements,
To look down on others.
“Stop,” you’re being jealous,
That you’re not the one,
The core of applause.
Alone, but I was,
Uncertain emptiness was what I felt.
Not covetousness,
The extraness, to be precise.
That all will pass,
And I’ll be alone.
