US

POETS’ CORNER

US
By S. K
Fri, 09, 21

And on its dedication page, Cummings printed a concrete poem—a poem written in the shape of a funereal urn, listing the names of every publisher who had rejected him...

POETS’ CORNER

70 Poems

Even after releasing a novel, poetry collections, and plays, American writer E.E. Cummings’s proposed collection 70 Poems was rejected by 14 publishers. With a loan from his mother, he finally managed to publish the book in 1935, but with two noteworthy revisions. First, he changed its title to No Thanks, a reference to the dismissal letters he’d received. And on its dedication page, Cummings printed a concrete poem—a poem written in the shape of a funereal urn, listing the names of every publisher who had rejected him.

THE NIGHT

By Zeba Aziz

Again the night has come

Again the joy has come

The tears that waited

All day long

Are about to fall

Each tear that falls

Is filled with regret

Each of it embraces

The dark night

And states its story

The moon is the lamp

In the hands of the night

The stars are fireflies

So bright

The joy and melancholy

Both in the air

With the time that passes

The tears weep more

The dawn is to appear

The departure is near

Alas! The night has gone

Again, the joy has gone

When the stars blur

By Rumaissa Chouhan

When the stars get blurred by the clouds

When the moon hides behind them

When the wind kisses your eyes

When the drops of rain blesses your cheeks

Remember me, my name

My soul and my heart

Remember my love

That lingered around you

And then...

When you remember

Pray for me, pray for my soul

Pray that it gets healed and cured

For all the love I showered upon others

Finds me too, in the darkest nights

Pray that I find peace within my true self

And when…

The stars get visible

The clouds disintegrate

When the moon shows its grace

When the rainbow embraces the sky

And the wind plays with the leaves

Run towards me, run to embrace me

Run to show me care and affection

To tell me that I am loved

To tell me I am worthy of love

Of care, of attention

Run so I can be proud of my life

Run before the clouds blur the stars

Before the moon hides

Run, run towards me, for me.

On a frosty winter night

By Ali Asghar Ghani

On a frosty winter night

under an old mapple tree

The black wind dances with

forgotten songs of the past

Compiled by SK