Holding dry roses glued between the pages, Pale-turned sheets, once scented of sandalwood...
Poems forever
By Robert Frost
Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.
Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.
And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.
For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfil.
By Tehzeeb Sialvi
The navigating sailor left the shore,
Set the ship free, amidst the wind’s uproar.
The aura was disturbingly still, so calm—
Portending an upcoming, fierce storm.
Crashing waves soon struck the deck;
He gasped - had no one kept a check?
Unwavering darkness consumed his sight.
He yearned for guidance, a ray of light!
Far in the distance, brushing the clouds,
Stood a deserted, yet sturdy lighthouse.
As gloom encroached upon the scene,
The control panel beeped and lit the screen.
A rustic frame may lead and guide,
Frivolous it seems, but emanates light.
By Sa'ad Nazeer
A red rose you gave to me,
Do you remember?
When we came back
To our war-torn city
To find the wreckage of our home.
We used to lie up there
On the rooftop
On breezy summer nights,
And gaze long at the stars,
Wondering what the heavens
Had in store for us that year.
And we looked at the rubble
For a long time.
And we didn’t blink.
By Abid Agha
I found it in my old goods store,
Torn, faded, coverless, it bore.
As I turned the first page,
Floods of memory began to cascade.
A battered shape, yet still readable,
Holding dry roses glued between the pages,
Pale-turned sheets, once scented of sandalwood,
Now odourless, yet displayed with grace.
In the middle of my diary,
I narrated my first love,
Encircled with a red heart.
I drew lit candles, Cupid, and flowers,
And wrote quotes of spring showers.
I penned words of ambition and hope,
Some still unended, a probe.
Towards the end, a true story unfolded,
How two souls parted ways,
Once devoted, vowing never to break
The bond of an everlasting relationship.
The last page was dedicated to someone,
Who once claimed, "Wait, I will return."
