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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