When spring blossoms knocked on the doors, And nature's hues adorned beauty’s shores...
Poems forever
By Emily Dickinson
A drop fell on the apple tree,
Another on the roof;
A half a dozen kissed the eaves,
And made the gables laugh.
A few went out to help the brook,
That went to help the sea.
Myself conjectured, Were they pearls,
What necklaces could be!
The dust replaced in hoisted roads,
The birds jocoser sung;
The sunshine threw his hat away,
The orchards spangles hung.
The breezes brought dejected lutes,
And bathed them in the glee;
The East put out a single flag,
And signed the fete away.
By Abid Agha
When we first met at Café Milano Sunrise,
And celebrated your birthday by surprise,
An untold story, feelings ignite,
A silent promise, crafted over time.
I gave you, my heart.
When spring blossoms knocked on the doors,
And nature's hues adorned beauty’s shores,
A colour palette that beauty adores.
I gave you, my heart.
The full moon rose in the clear sky,
Encircled by a twilight galaxy nearby.
Shadows moved - both slow and high;
I walked with the moon as darkness glowed,
While a mystic stream let my feelings grow,
And the night held secrets only we’d disclose.
I gave you, my heart.
Sitting on the terrace of Café Milano,
Your face aglow, with piano notes
in the shadow,
Sipping freshly brewed, aromatic coffee,
Topped with choco flakes - warm and frothy.
We were lost somewhere in a moment’s blend,
The beginning of a beautiful trend,
A whispered promise, a journey to attend.
I gave you, my heart.
By Shandana Noushad
I remember her -
The girl who once believed
That dreams bloomed simply by wishing,
Who wore wonder like a second skin
And danced through days without fear.
She laughed without holding back,
No second thoughts, no silent edits -
Just joy spilling from her eyes
Like the world hadn't taught her
To be careful yet.
Now, she hides in quiet corners,
Wears tiredness like a permanent shade,
And speaks less -
Because silence doesn't disappoint
The way hope sometimes does.
She still smiles,
But it doesn’t reach the place
Where light used to live.
She builds walls,
Mistaking them for strength.
Once, she chased butterflies.
Now, she chases peace.
And somewhere in between
The magic slipped through her fingers,
Too subtle to scream,
Too soft to stay.
But I see her sometimes
In old songs, in the rain,
In the way the sun spills golden
Over forgotten mornings.
And when I do,
I whisper:
“Come back.
It's safe now.
You don’t have to be everything.
Just be.”
By Ummara Rukhsar
I don’t like the rain anymore.
It no longer whispers the songs of pine trees,
No longer brings the laughter of waves,
Nor the call of distant mountains.
The monsoon is no longer a season of the
blushing bride,
Waiting for the return of her beloved.
It is no longer the time when children
danced wildly
In torrents of joy,
When the earth smelled like heaven.
Now, this rain smells of death and decay.
Its sound is no lullaby - it is a warning.
Why does it feel so heavy, so ominous?
Will I ever get my monsoon back?
Will I sing again of rivers and love -
Of the beloved falling, hopelessly,
beautifully, in love?
This is Sohni’s curse.
What you hear is her cry -
A cry torn from despair,
As the cruel Chenab rips her from her beloved.
