Floatsam O' thee craddle crib tainted thou long sail over the mazarine clement sea, O' how thee forbid thou kinswoman to ease tulips shade their scents along thy alpine tree. Where the rubab's string sings cusp poetry spring O' where thou ghalib has lost far beyond In attan eve, thy streets are red mihrab and minbar frightened where thou sheaves of wheat around the mosque and hijri year underneath, alas! the erstwhile doctrines you sell over thou cold war skin.
O' thee ruthless king how thy (P/p)rime rests In peace why the azans even ring far bounded through his curshed shrine rifts; Children cry by the null mortarshell their mother had died father Is missing and their brother on neva returning runaway, their eldest sister has been lashed In back midst of the men, the parting tears In eyes and dusty breads on her wounded hand.
O' thee fires stay a little while on the cimmerian gale thou cuss may fell upon the tyrant- over the Kafir's head. You thee forasmuch ruler how dare you snatch the prophecy away of my friends, do lease my mighty words, cease the warlords suppress them. O' free thy cyclopian vehemence cyclophosphamide metaphors, rescue thy burnt sorcerer's eminence. O' thee my beloved land thy broods are In paradoxial pain, they flee to live they live In presence of your Grief, they die on your lap. O' why thou roads are red mihrab and minbar frightened where thou soothing sheaves of wheat around thy capracious Land.
Most of us are dead at 30, but burried in our 80's. This life of ours is such a beautiful opportunity to explore ourselves and exhibit the best version to the world. Let's not waste it by wasting time.
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I seek no grace untouched by blood, Lover Is my winter my holy fire In middle of the cold night. Her words, ring sweet as a chime of gold her words a poetry to my naked soul. She Is the girl of my dream whose words to me all victorian poetry. Her fair skin bright as Nazi lampshade hazel eyes deep and bright as the lunar arcade.
I dreamed her In a traditional attire In a blue Dangri was preaching an ancient dialect to cure the God In me, her hair divided In two clips crimson lip-paint and round ear-rings.
She promised me that she'll come back to me with strong hype sewed with the sea. But she comes not, may be she Is attained by someone better than me. Well, she Is my Lover the girl of my dream and I'm In love with her the way she whispers In my sleep, she Is my Lover the girl of my dream and I don't know how to ask her to be my forever Love Poetry.
Two roads diversed In a yellow wood the Jigsaw of unparalleled heaven, Oh God which one to choose. One took away the daisies along and other thought to wait for a day, nemesis of pristine words emphasised In raven cliche witchcrafts or wizardry or even cast my soul away alter my petrified eyes buoyant beyond the faraway. Cease a little while, O' Wind! O' The serpentine stream, be thou silent a while let my cry be heard over the topsy-turvy of paths, beyond the naked heaths let my runaway wanderer hear me.
Draped In my grief till the morning for a week and took the right way, for a second I forgot how to walk and could not feel at my heart left; where the pale tamarisk O' God fall like fork over the pale sanguine skin please tell me, where a deceased Lover can go by forgetting all memories. The daffodils laugh half, white tulip mocks me the gulmohors turn their red away when I sing them melancholy.
What he could be but he had chosen to be the Poet to find her In poetry, they laughed In glee at all his Jokes, for many a Joke had he the Love he bore to learn was In fault, In the dark he preached poesy. Such were the sounds over his wounded pride robbed In the sable garb of woe stucked In deep sorrows of lies sighs In awful voice beneath, mark the year and mark the night when the hacksaw ridge dwelled like a forlorned bravery. O' stay wild my moonchild, take the path of your own sorrows, pain, Love again to regain, laugh and Joy let be your confetti. Two roads diversed In a yellow wood and sorry I could not travel Both.
In seek of solemnity and grandeur but far surpasses of finest Cathedral, deprived from the narrative abysmal when decade old wraths had lived In heck of soul's alluvial, a decaying field from ages where the faeries once played and raised, flocks of nymphs and satyr from adjacent forest Lullaby of flute muffed fewest, for a while lost In tune soul felt may be It's prime, trying to heal all the pain.
Alas! gorgeous Lamia of my age appeared once to ease my all bondage, though a little tensed for the strict tales- a human can't fall for a Lamia In average. Sins that halt the past In viscous dusts, enthralling cussed liberty again to combust all fierce disgust, If I could deceive my death warrant to lie then knowing though at the end I must die again. But still hearing her tender taken breath O' My dear Lamia, live forever or else sleep to death. How does It feel to die at the age of 18, early. Is It an adverse bliss or diverse In Little. Our story was written on the Waves of ocean, few formed whirlpool and few meant to Riddle.
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To this home of falling flower all your melancholy all your never spoken rage, Oh! If you could tell me all these 4 years back. If you could tell me then I should pray not only on Sunday but each time you slayed. Now when you're already gone and breaking up over this cellphone you gifted, then why all these sudden exclamation, why all these hard questions!
I knew, I should have gifted you a gold chain back I should have gifted you a valley full of stories In deep a room of four brick-walls and a concrete roof on its top, But I failed. I failed willingly, I failed because I had no fear of losing you I failed because, failing owes some materialistic things and I worshiped none of them. I failed because I knew, If one-day all you want to leave Love Will Never Leave Me And for Nowhere.
So one-day out we went through the green garden boughs where the crimson roses shed their scent. Out a gate away we walked sixteen stair steps then over the dewy hays on the mountain, and there was the Krishna shrine by the town-K where the brick-walls were light yellow painted and behind the hills were so milky-red that we were followed In woodwalk wild by an ancient mariner chased us west along.
An ounce of Love before the day got fade, we broke the long silence over a mushroom pizza date; 'Subha, you must not go by tomorrow, Just a day after Is my birthday. After we reach home, you'll go straight to my Mom and will tell her you're staying. You're staying. Okay. You're staying till my birthday.' It was nearly a decade ago when I had lost all my over empowering dialect, all the smart speeches or excuses In that moment of time and that was right then. Birds were singing madrigals through the window on that merry winter and we paused suddenly again, and kissed;
O' beautiful you with honeyed lips with the brows of gold that didn't smile for a while then rippled all over with laughter five minutes after. Those were the days when we were so In love little crying, few arguments but not frightened of any bad consequences. Well, If my heart must break now O' Dear love, for your sake, It will break In millions poetry, poets hearts break too In silence. Let It break.
Soul wilts though toss them again, by some acrimonious hazards millions have lost, but some conquered asked to vow treasure of ballots, later realised- was meant to saw.
Life Is life but not without death purely blind of what to breath. But How you gonna treat my soul Hindu, Muslim or through the Jesus' brain, ring for my Scant Salvation or call my neighbours and friends. But how they will tell you about the shipwrecks, when winter Is knocking their doors already, ready to break.
Till the children asked: But What about the rest, did they return even Naked wearing only vest! Then the silence suppressed the story Wrapped the narrator's Tail of glory. Now tell me bl**dy Morons, How can I feel to be In home When my own country has made me an Orphan, Homeless.