December 8, 2017
By S. K

What needs my Shakespeare, for his honoured bones,

Poems forever

On Shakespeare

What needs my Shakespeare, for his honoured bones,

The labour of an age in piled stones?

Or that his hollowed relics should be hid

Under a stary-pointing pyramid?

Dear son of Memory, great heir of Fame,

What need’st thou such weak witness of thy name?

Thou, in our wonder and astonishment,

Hast built thyself a livelong monument.

For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art,

Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart

Hath, from the leaves of thy unvalued book,

Those Delphic lines with deep impression took;

Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving,

Dost make us marble, with too much conceiving;

And, so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie,

That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.

- John Milton


By Hajra Rehman

I, a troubled child of anarchy


The bloodbath so loud,

And louder it gets,

The noise so loud,

But louder is silence.

Ah! Sweet soulful sway...

Yes! Sway of a gypsy’s lock

And its colourful beads

In the desert breeze,


Gazing from the pyramids, or

Happy fingers of a child chasing an ant or

The drum solo of a belly dancer, or

Miles of journey on camel’s back

Or ... or turban ... bandana ... a native flute...

Or gathering across a fireplace

Or a proud tribe or a mother’s touch...

Or ... or anything!

Anything subtle! Anything!

But subtle and peaceful.

Yes! Subtle and gentle.

I, a petrichor and the tang of the fresh paint,

I , a petrichor and decades of drought,

I, a petrichor and men ...

Yes! Them and the hungry gaze.

I, a petrichor, am baking earth,


Waiting for the rain to be freed.

Life is beautiful

By Syeda Aleena Hasnain

Another year; another time

Yet a similar issue, at a similar time

Conflict of decisions, conflicting the mind

Racing and sinking the heart; at the same time

To let go, or to not let go?

Again a similar question; yet an undesired time

Same year, same time

Yet a different issue, at an unexpected time

To love or to be loved; which is better?

To seek happiness or to be someone’s happiness?

To stand for yourself or to stand by others?

Which is better, which is worst?

Woeful, awful, mournful and doleful,

Blissful, cheerful, joyful and peaceful,

Which is better; which is worst?

A reason to be awed; a reason to gawk at

All the words dazzlingly filled with fulls,

Yet life is a wild goose chase,

A wild chase, to unseal an opportunity that never knocked at the door.

A wild quest to conquer the love that was never yours.

A wild hunt you start over with the relinquished dreams.

Yet they say, life is simple if you take it easy.

I say, life is beautiful but is not a bed of roses.

A stranger’s whisper

By Ayesha Chiragh

With their gaze in search of mine

They ask me;

In what thoughts am I lost?

What game had made me cost?

Such gloomy passion of life

Like dancing on edge of knife

Singing melancholic melody of loss

For I’m but a capricious wandering Albatross

Roaming , wading through crystal deep sky

Stained with blood-red dew drops, fly

Heavy, heavy and still more heavy

But people are people wherever they are

Ruled by conditions, bright or dark

They acknowledged that I have a right, but

By then I was doomed, dead and quiet

Compiled by SK

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