To live is to dree, to die is to be free, He who embraces pain receives the gree...
Poems forever
By James Henry Leigh Hunt
Open the window, and let the air
Freshly blow upon face and hair,
And fill the room, as it fills the night,
With the breath of the rain's sweet might.
Hark! the burthen, swift and prone!
And how the odorous limes are blown!
Stormy Love's abroad, and keeps
Hopeful coil for gentle sleeps.
Not a blink shall burn to-night
In my chamber, of sordid light;
Nought will I have, not a window-pane,
'Twixt me and the air and the great
good rain,
Which ever shall sing me sharp lullabies;
And God's own darkness shall close
mine eyes;
And I will sleep, with all things blest,
In the pure earth-shadow of natural rest.
By Rumaissa Xaenub Chouhan
To live is to dree, to die is to be free,
He who embraces pain receives the gree.
When autumn comes, the leaves may flee,
Yet the tree stands tall, in steadfast glory.
A man of faith and valour does not falter,
Of his fate, he is his own author.
His heart the world may strive to shatter,
But oh, his will, it does not deter.
Lies may wear a robe that brightly gleams,
Blinding the eyes, invading dreams.
But the ugliness beneath cannot stay
disguised,
For sooner or later, truth shall rise.
To love is to sacrifice; to hate, to vandalise,
Choose your path with care, lest you
apologise.
Keep your feet on the ground, your
eyes on the skies,
For His treasures unfold to the
heart that truly
By Abid Agha
The lamps flicker softly, casting shadows tall,
Against the platform, a quiet sprawl.
Time stands still in this vacant space,
A silent theater, an isolated race.
My love flickers like the dying flame,
I’m waiting for her, only aim.
Faces blur in the mist, shadows stretch
in the rain,
and a chill wind bites with a sharp, cold pain.
The midnight train whistle sings its
mournful song,
Echoes of memories, both right and wrong.
The lamps struggle to pierce the gloom,
Yet, darkness persists, out of room.
As the train approaches, wheels on the track,
Showcase sleep-laden faces, some unseen,
some awake, some still in dreams.
My eyes are glued to the motionless train.
She didn’t arrive hopes dying again.
The train now whistles, a mournful refrain,
Through the mist, the journey begins alone,
I leave the station, a heart of stone.
By Maryam Shah
Those annoying little angels,
Jolly and naughty,
I wish they came running
to me, asking for help with
some topic,
Begging me for books
The way they beg for gadgets.
I wish they felt as tense as I do
Before their exams,
And loved their teachers
As much as they love those
fictional characters.
Dreamt about their lectures
and classes,
As they dream about their
cricket matches.
Ahhh! Unrealised dreams
of an elder sister,
Of two little terrors.
