Excerpted fro Beowulf, an Old English epic poem consisting of 3182 alliterative long lines....
By Fatymah Ishtiaq
Words that are unsaid
Words that are unread
Words, gnawing the very existence
And draining it,
Drop by drop...
Every now and then
They pound in the chest
Exasperated,
Enraged
And enflamed...
Sauntering slowly through the throat
Throbbing beneath the tongue
They linger on the lips
Waiting,
Waiting
And waiting
Chafing lips away
They attempt to peep out
Smouldering in the fire of their own existence
They still attempt to make one
Ruthless in their make up
Yet, quintessence of the calm
In the midst of this murk
They struggle to be read
In the midst of this tumult
They struggle to be heard
Drowning in the quagmire of its essence
They catch at the straw
The straw of the ears
That never welcomed thou
Yet making their way
Struggling and struggling
Until to nothingness do they sink
By Ayesha Malik
Colours and hues
Bright and blues
Words and phrases
Are all mere phases
Each one passes
Over the crowds
Fighting the faces
Marked with graces
Sounds and echoes
Are all muted embraces
Given our time lapses
We enrage our ages
Grab the scruffs
Of necks ‘n’ puffs
All our tolerance
All our reverence
Drains out in spaces
Where vain banter lays
Entrenched in greys
Making appearances
Smiling pale faces
That is who we are
Deep down in the basis
Nothing works
Nothing replaces
The wistful song
Delivers its facets
Churning up old lies
Beautiful and envious faces
Wishing to be pleasant
In mind and in phrases
Poems forever
By Anonymous
Lo, praise of the prowess of
people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in
days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from
squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls. Since erst he lay
friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,
till before him the folk, both far and near,
who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts: a good king he!
Excerpted fro Beowulf, an Old English epic poem consisting of 3182 alliterative long lines. It is possibly the oldest surviving long poem in Old English and is commonly cited as one of the most important works of Old English literature. It was written in England some time between the 8th and the early 11th century. The author was an anonymous Anglo-Saxon poet, referred to by scholars as the “Beowulf poet.” Modern English translation above is by Frances B. Grummere.
Compiled by SK
