Poetry and Prose
Smell of Jehlum
Thine rivers chirping from dawn to dusk
are the nights of ecstasy
from which freshness does flow
with drops of peace pouring into Dal.
I hide my puzzles under your green coats,
and those glistening Lillies of the Wular,
in my dreams, I sleep over melody of gush
and sink into the abyss of myriad waves.
O' Kashmir you drench; glow like diamonds
while my thirst quenches with balls of snow
that thatch of lush greenery is where I belong,
where I come from rest my breaths are the guests of time.
Endless is dusk where I slide towards slowly,
slowly into the waters of Mansar,
I walk then towards Silk route to relish
and squeeze taste of nature at its best.
I live in the drops of Pangong lake
O' my land I smell your beauty,
hear your voice in rush of Jehlum
see your hues in fruits and leaves.
© Zakir Malik
Cries from the Valley
The perfused armed Land
Rolling like the round pebbles
From promised hills to aghast valley
I recall the laid souls.
Alive we are bruised and brave
Determined like a wounded lion
From pure springs to dirty lakes
I count the stainless graves.
Angels here fear the death
Amidst wolves we everyday see.
From dense forests to bare cities
I see the shattered homes.
We look for the lost souls
carrying the frozen veins
From scattered blood to glass of wine
I gaze and pray to the naked sky.
Life is revolving like a tyre
Not halting at the lost peace
From bruised sons to crying mothers
I shoulder every pain.
You heard our silent cries
In collection of scattered lines
From aimed bullets to diffused stress
We transpired like spring leaves.
Count not us dead in dreams,
The souls shall haunt them
From sleepless nights to restless days
They shall carry burdens with them.
© Atif Khurshid Wani
Freedom won't come
Until you revolutionize
the way of living;
It won't come through
malfeasance and vileness.
I have not as much right
to convey my sermons on;
neither the other lads have,
to violate the land
"paradise on earth"
Now, I am pooped of harking
Let it arise, what is arising,
no need to bewail;
revel in the life of
earning money grungy.
I don't know how my life is
running to regale me;
Tomorrow, I will be here or not;
Freedom won't come until
you plant the seeds of ecstasy,
I am the one; like me
here are many;
I need freedom,
they need it, too.
Freedom will come
when justice favors,
when people regard,
when evils go,
when sons make their parents
when people turn to Allah.
© Adnan Shafi
From the broken strings I compose
Lyrics of thy song
And from the sullen vales
Of thy art do I endure
Struggle through the doorsteps
Of another world of praises
And ruin down my history
For the tales of a common man.
I was neither heavy to poke
At the realms of life
Nor do I sign to make wonders
For wonders are miracles of Divine
And Divine is a miracle Himself
To confirm the merits of being one.
All those doubts shall pass beyond
And shall mark a hermit's word
Written like fable of a gloomy life
And all those objects shall succumb
And fall prey to the ultimate reality,
From one lonely person shall I rise
Like a scary poet of my era
In the dark secrets of a troublesome life
Only to incarcerate our unborn tale.
© Sahil Mudasir
THE HIDDEN BEAUTY
There's some magic in the air,
Willing to take me somewhere.
The stalks with briars mossed the road;
The rose with balms is overflowed.
I can feel the sun of fears,
Leaving me all drowned in tears.
Yet your selfless love and fire
Have renewed me with desire.
You've indulged me with sex drive,
And just made me feel alive.
The magic of your two eyes,
Whence the truth thereupon lies,
Sets my whole body and soul
On the fire without control.
The rose upon a thorny bud
Is always the blood of my blood;
The smile she traced upon her face
Is her distinguished loving grace.
She is the lady of my heart,
Whence magic seems a work of art.
Now the magic lies in the skies,
Where the stars kiss the butterflies.
Beauty is hidden in our hearts and minds;
We should just free ourselves from lies and binds.
© Walid Boureghda
MY LOVE TO YOU SHALL NEVER BE FRAIL AND THIN
The fire, burning inside of my heart,
Is playing a superb melody with its flame.
My sickening heart's dancing acapella,
And saddening my soul in a fiendish game.
I can feel that special love inside of me;
Silly and stupid I am, I was ignorant.
I just don't know what to say and what to do;
It would just seem petty and belligerent.
How can I offer you all my love?
How can I cherish you the most?
How can I keep you alive in my heart?
Surely you shall be my glimmering host.
Swivel-eyed I am, not to read you this:
I would confess I was a daft eccentric
When I couldn't blow the gaff about my love,
But all I offer you is a love that is authentic.
My heart crumbles down when I hear your voice,
My soul wings its way when I touch your skin,
My body plays hell with me when I see you;
And my love to you shall never be frail and thin.
© Walid Boureghda
PAIN of EXISTENCE
Many virgin lands, awaiting your feet to
place them upon.
Deeply immersed in the pain of existence
where, seeing melancholy
sitting in the dark, prevailed.
In the rows and columns of high pine trees
trembling, cold atmosphere of your body
shakes, the whole of, being you.
Where darkness enhancing the fallacy
of your solicited soul.
How could that all vanish, be so impulsive
to lure your soul out of the pain
and let you think
for awhile, of me.
© Ahmed Nawaz
with wing tip dipped
in Eden's fountain of sunshine
Your gentle touch
agitates the waters
reflecting cloud and sky
Your beauty, exotic
making the paradise you inhabit
seem an ugly cage
arrayed in silky garments, white and pink
you are, more beautiful than
the sacred lotus
The slight tilt of your head, falling down
hair black as night, the length of heaven
the scent of jasmine
Your painted eyes on the horizon
dreaming of words
greater than mine
Intoxicating, your sweet smile
from wine-stained lips
as red as rose petals
Dangling to hear, echoes of silver and gold
like two stars afire, tumbling
inside my breast, you are
The fluttering of my heart
where pen kisses page
there you are
My. . .
Beautiful. . .
© Stefan Bohdan 2020
Quick dry blood
Absorbs itself under graphic tees
That make believe the man is the myth
The legend runs adrift in naked storefronts
On doors that close behind themselves
Leaving God behind
They claim for the universal good
Sprinting behind the man is his double
He who once ran the race alone
Now tied up in knots with his own
All standing in the same room
A likeness of himself.
© Shanti Harjani-Williams 2020
ONE WITH A BULLET
and empathy are lovers
exiled in a late revelation
I am no pioneer of observation
but a rock could see the tumours
on the head of this monster
settling for chaos hasn't soured
to the sapiens way
and it won't
long as such danger dances in
behind the curtain of epochal
© Steven Fortune 2020
The inhale, the exhale, the pranayama of breath,
While displaying an array of backward and foreward bends.
Braid of ankles, weave of arms,
Spine lines curved or straight,
The set-up of vinyasa flow for new asanas,
Physical poses in twists, flexes, folds.
Intertwining elegance of the lotus,
Practice within the stretch, mesh, and groove.
The soft sound of mantra
At body's relaxation
While we continue the drishti gaze.
© Linda Imbler 2020
At it's mountain top,
A summit rife with harmonics,
And commanders of verse
Where all who scale it's well-shaped peaks
Are taught to sing down their learning.
Centuries of knowledge stacked,
Kings and Princes,
Demons and Daemons,
Queens and Jester,
The clarion, the harp, the dance,
The arts that make the world good,
Inspirations of divinity,
The enthusiasm of sacred revelations.
Seek beauty and love in all future creations
Imagination's a precious thing.
Artistry from the pen, from the harp, the song.
A thousand faces of new birth.
No emulation, each muse to its own talents.
© Linda Imber 2020
Linda Imbler is the author of 5 paperback poetry collections
and three e-book collections (Soma Publishing). She lives in Wichita, Kansas with her husband, Mike the Luthier, several quite intelligent saltwater fish, and an ever-growing family of
gorgeous guitars. Learn more about her at:
Linda's Poetry Blog
The Wind and Me
Strange scenes, lifeless trees, the wind and me.
Quiet flowers, magical charms, the wind and me.
Who knows where the passerby will go for awhile,
The travel dust, the wind and me.
From any of the directions can find a way,
Aware of all desert vales, the wind and me.
Often no heed, no response even
Nights kept crying, the wind and me.
Even the trees fell which were the path lamps
Confusions occur between the wind and me.
© Firdous Sideeq 2020
Tell me one thing
Why do you blame me
For looting your happy homes
Of all that bestowed happiness
And plundering your weaved nests
Which you make with untiring efforts.
Don't you remember
The word, the promise
You made with a large smile
In that unending vast ground
You uttered a yes
On every asked reply
You raised hands high
On every asked response
You went in prostration
On every blessed act
You turned jubilant
On every oath taken
You keep me a foe
You call me a calamity
You run away from me
You turn unfriendly to me
Ain't I your last stop?
Ain't I your final destination?
© Riyaz Ul Hassan 2020
I'll take this long winter night
as a time of indulgence.
When the nights are cold
and the stars are few,
to brighten my obscure view
of my distant lover's existence.
Soon - I'll get bare and naked
and unfold and roll it out
as I wait for his embrace.
Soon - I'll wrap myself like a mummy
I'll fold and roll it up,
as he leaves me frozen, unfazed.
What good is indulgence
when love is as cold
as the Himalayan mountains?
© Stella L. Luna 2020