Robert Browning was born on May 7, 1812 in Camberwell, London, to Robert and Sarah Anna Browning......
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Poet of the week – Robert Browning
Robert Browning was born on May 7, 1812 in Camberwell, London, to Robert and Sarah Anna Browning. He was inspired by the works of Shelley. In 1833, Browning anonymously published his first work, Pauline. Some of his famous works include Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came (1855), My Last Duchess (1842), Pippa Passes (1841), Dramatic Lyrics (1842), Dramatic Romances and Lyrics (1845), and The Bishop Orders His Tomb (published with Dramatic Romances and Lyrics). Browning finest work is considered to be Men and Women, a collection of poems dedicated to Elizabeth.
Browning married Elizabeth Barrett, a poet, in 1846. The couple moved to Florence, Italy, and had a son three years later. In 1861, Elizabeth died and Robert and their son moved back to London. On December 12, 1889, Robert Browning died in Venice, the same day that the final volume of Asolando was published. He was later buried at the Poets’ Corner in Westminster Abbey, London.
Who?
By Mashaal Farid
Couldn’t look back, running fast forward
And it ran after me;
Grey and hollow shell
While I stumbled upon a rock
Horrified; I tried looking back
Crack sounds and open wounds
Shrieking, shrilling, and skin shredding
But why is it so?
That triggered this sight...
A sense of my lost leman
Is it really the haunting ghost?
Or am I the hunting demon?
Sunflower
By Ayesha Nadeem
There she was,
Draped in a blanket of golden sunshine,
Stretching her arms in bed,
Ready to blossom.
Life
By Fatima Zohra Farooqi
Maybe life is shards of glass
And I,
I am but a hopeless wanderer
Looking for all the pieces
To join together
And try,
Try to make sense of what it’s about
But all these shards have sharp edges
And all,
All I can fathom till now is that
It hurts...
..But maybe one day
When I am done joining
All the pieces together
Would it seem beautiful,
Making this journey worth it.
Joy
By Mehma Kunwar
I have seen dead hearts and dead homes
wrapped tactfully with carnival garlands,
echoing sounds of laughter,
signalling the presence of life.
so don’t mind me when I say
joy is exactly as blind as love.
A hundred winters in our hearts
By Sa’ad Nazeeri
Have you ever felt friendless?
I have, it feels like a Romantic
Breaking out of Puritan prison
The freedom gained from this oppression
Goes uncelebrated
Into your countenance it creeps
Ceases the vagrant eye to wander
Smiles steal away
The Frank-Slade air appears on your face
Then feels as if we’re oppressed
By the same freedom we fought for
Frivolous eves and frivolous morns
Pass without any stirs or storms
So does one delirium
Only to come back
At the blink of a moment
The moment that makes you unassailable
The moment that tempts you to go aloof
But the moment lasts not longer
Than a single-night-blooming cereus
The need yet again oars us back
Into the uninviting bosoms-
Of our sweets and amigos.
Disrelish is a heartache;
Love is a heartache
Ah! The contrast between the two.
Flames of thoughts
By Ali Asghar Ghani
Burning down of words in the mouth
produces
flames of thoughts in the mind
Compiled by SK
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