Poems forever

October

By Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,

Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;

Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,

Should waste them all.

The crows above the forest call;

Tomorrow they may form and go.

O hushed October morning mild,

Begin the hours of this day slow.

Make the day seem to us less brief.

Hearts not averse to being beguiled,

Beguile us in the way you know.

Release one leaf at break of day;

At noon release another leaf;

One from our trees, one far away.

Retard the sun with gentle mist;

Enchant the land with amethyst.

Slow, slow!

For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,

Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,

Whose clustered fruit must else be lost —

For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

The last sip

By Abid Agha

In the quiet corner of Café Milano,

The cup still warm, but nearly dry,

I took the last sip — slow, reluctant-

As if swallowing a moment, I never wanted to end.

The steam curled like memories,

Rising from years we left behind,

Laughter caught in chipped porcelain,

Your smile still lingering in the sugar's trace.

Outside, winter whispered through glass,

But inside, the silence spoke your name.

Each drop held echoes of unfinished words,

Half-spoken dreams, and the music of ‘what if.’

The last sip — bitter, bold, and bare,

Was not just coffee, but the closing note

Of a melody we played too quietly,

Too carefully, afraid it might break.

And now, I sit again in some distant hour,

New cup, same taste, same ache

Still chasing the warmth

Of that one last sip

That tasted like forever

Just before it slipped away.

The valley cries

By Ummara Rukhsar

The whole valley cries —

the fir trees,

the cornfields,

the flowing stream.

Shut.

Close.

Stop.

Ban the privilege,

End the protocol,

Finish the reservations.

Shut it down.

Close it.

Silence.

Let the valley breathe,

Let the stream flow,

Let the children live unoppressed.

Let no golden crown shine.

And let justice rise,

Like the morning sun over the

mountains.

Autumn’s advent

By Aman Sadiq

It seems like, it feels like

The colours of thy love are fading;

In which my heart awakens at night,

In which my morning folds itself,

Like a tired ant hiding in a bush

Against the weather, winds, and rain,

Against the worldly pain…

It seems like the colours are decaying,

Seems like autumn is upon us.

My maple tree will now discolour itself,

Leaf by leaf, branch by branch.

Yet the world of hope will live on,

That the rubble of her memory might bring

The span of a far, yet alluring spring.