By S. K
Fri, 05, 19

Robert Browning was born on May 7, 1812 in Camberwell, London, to Robert and Sarah Anna Browning......

Poems forever

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.


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?


By Ayesha Nadeem

There she was,

Draped in a blanket of golden sunshine,

Stretching her arms in bed,

Ready to blossom.


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.


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


flames of thoughts in the mind

Compiled by SK

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