Each season, I await the arrival of these flowers, A priceless fest — a reward from nature’s powers...
Poems forever
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
The Ocean has its silent caves,
Deep, quiet, and alone;
Though there be fury on the waves,
Beneath them there is none.
The awful spirits of the deep
Hold their communion there;
And there are those for whom we weep,
The young, the bright, the fair.
Calmly the wearied seamen rest
Beneath their own blue sea.
The ocean solitudes are blest,
For there is purity.
The earth has guilt, the earth has care,
Unquiet are its graves;
But peaceful sleep is ever there,
Beneath the dark blue waves.
By Abid Agha
White, purple, orange, and pink —
A display of colours marks its first innings.
Hues spread across walls, parks and roadsides,
A true reflection of spring on the rise.
Serenity dips in hues, refined,
Climbing vines — an art redefined.
I'm falling in love with nature’s vibrant palette;
Amigo, it’s bougainvillea — spring’s unsung ballad.
Each season, I await the arrival of these flowers,
A priceless fest — a reward from nature’s powers.
Like young love blooming in gentle light,
Soft petals hold stories, fragile yet bright.
Entwined like vines in warm embrace,
They grow with time, at their own pace.
A tender touch, a whispered breeze —
Moments that drift with effortless ease.
You and I, like Bougainvillea’s climb,
Rooted deep, yet reaching in time.
By Amna Ameer
I let the sadness
Comfort me
Like loose skin
Studded with wrinkles
And dampened
With false promises
Carrying the stench of betrayal
There's no way
I know
Of how things would
Make sense
Either way
I ask my heart
Did it hurt as much?
Is invested sadness
The same as colossal wreck?
Can the same stroke of luck
Be the weapon of assault?
Do deeds come back?
Not as a nuance
Or reward
Or are they only written
For some broken record
Of books kept
Under the carpet
Of leaking truths
How it seems
Like a whisper
From the corner of the room
As they sit and fold
Piles of hurt and aches
A past that lasts
Four days
And they put them neatly
Coherently in chronological order
For them the details
May be blurred
But each scar
Has a well defined border
The place
Where paths no longer crossed
And no feelings traversed
Only sadness brushed across
With each passing day
I let this illegitimate orphan in
I gave my sorrow a name
I tamed it, owned it
Lived with it
As it nibbled my skin,
Soon only ripped edges remained
That tore every happiness
I tried to embrace
Yet the ones
Who left me these pieces
Sat beside their sins
Unable to recognize
The page
Where this story begins
It starts with their name
