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arshad arshad Poems
Make balloons Of your cherished dreams And inflate them with passion And let them fly
I Am Sympathy
I am sympathy. I was born never to die. I am the tender petals Where sleep the night's dews.
I listened, I listened, I listened
I listened, I listened, I listened, I listened to my dream That spoke to me in solitude, I listened to its heartbeats
The Refugee's Camp
In the deserted rented homeland Are strewn the dust-painted awnings. No sun peeps out, but hovers the fog.
Laugh If you lose the game Among the spectators in the open!
On Surface Of Water
On surface of water Float the things; They pass by to unknown places, No trace is found,
On The Platform
How Humble Is The Book
How humble is the book! How kind, how humblest! We nudge it; we fling it.
That was the day. Oh! So paainful, so long! I was without any ray With you to go for long.
The Beggar's Night
How can i say 'Good night'? There is no my own night. Night is for those who dream And with hopes and joys scream.
Another year has dissolved Like both the notes of the bird In the colossal firmament!
They are the flying fluffy clouds. They are the dancing raindrops. They are the rainbow in the purple sky.
My joys have taken flight Like a butterfly to the other sight They come again and again Only like the bubbles in the rain
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Of your cherished dreams
And inflate them with passion
And let them fly
But don't forget
To tie them with best efforts