hammadh zareer Poems
Sonnet of Love
We stand on the ground upon a turning page brandishing like a banner in the wind.
Who once has had a friend has found The link 'twixt mortal and divine; Though now he sleeps in hallowed ground, He lives in memory's sacret shrine;
I'll Be There
Embedded within my heart, A special door with your name. Life changed from the start, Since the first day you came.
Every second I spend with you Really is a dream come true. When I'm with you I feel so free I truly am as happy as can be.
Today the sun shines brighter No clouds adorn the sky My moods a little lighter Emotions I can't deny
My confession to love
Here I stand and wonder why, I try to understand the word love. But yet I can't seem to find it in my heart. He says he loves me all the time, and I try to believe it's true.
In verdant prairies where boughs of calloused trees cast green shadows
Breath Of Love
There comes a gentle knocking in this night, This night where my slumber lays restless. I tumble and turn to stir my tears. My eyes open with the rhythm of
A poem...for Her...by Him..your missing ...
Why is it I feel like I do? Why is it every spare moment i have is filled with the thought of looking in your eyes?
Can We Still Be Friends?
I was cold and hurting lost out in the night wandering and searching for heaven's light
Comments about hammadh zareer
(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)
Sonnet of Love
We stand on the ground
upon a turning page
brandishing like a banner in the wind.
Here in the branch of land
and the debris of its flipping leaves
and the page
that in its lines
absorbs the ink of our fate
the book that from the green ink of our phase
prints the unsettling song of its departures
with the words that
they seize hands to serenade
And to tune
the golden grove of our chests
when they burst in their love
and the white flutter of our wings
in the dove of our hearts
The graft like the rose's red sonnet of ...