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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
once named


"paradise on earth"


Now, I am pooped of harking
people buzz;
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;

who knows.




Freedom won't come until

you plant the seeds of ecstasy,

devotion, sympathy...



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


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


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


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

of existence

and let you think

for awhile, of me.

© Ahmed Nawaz



Colorful bird

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


Free will
and empathy are lovers

exiled in a late revelation

of cousinage

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

ecdysiast gyrations

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,


Stars, spheres,

Inspirations of divinity,

The enthusiasm of sacred revelations.

Forget evils,

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

Then why

You keep me a foe

Then why
You call me a calamity

Then why

You run away from me

Then why

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

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