Poems

A heavy heart, a worried mind,
When others' wants I cannot find.
No riches, health, or things they seek,
My spirit wilts, I feel so weak.
...

The world, a stage, a funny sight,
Where humans dance with all their might.
They fit so well, a curious blend,
On paths that twist, and never end.
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You can't lose that much and walk away whole.
I watch them every day - my people -
drowning in hard times while the sun rises and falls.
I see it. I feel it. And I can do nothing.
...

'लगे रंग जब प्रीत का, तन हुए तस्कीन-ए-रूह
रंग संग जब प्रीत मिले, लगे खिले खेत में फूल

रीत गीत संगीत सही, मीत हुआ मनमीत
...

Praise flows like a relentless tide, a wave of gratitude that simply can't be contained. My friend has risen, not by luck but through sheer determination, now shining brightly as an academic name: Associate Professor in Economics, standing proud where ideas transform into a lasting legacy beneath the vast sky.
At the core of learning, under the eastern horizon, where questions are born and visions take flight, a mind shaped by ink and tireless effort, a spirit forged through unseen battles not fixed in stone, but molded in living fire, where thoughts are crafted and dreams ignite.
Like a river breaking through its ancient barriers, a journey carved through every challenge. Like a seed that pushes through the tough soil, a transformation that turns resistance into a powerful symphony.
A drumbeat of will against the night's closed door, a heartbeat of hope that refuses to yield, a rhythm of striving that stretches endlessly, until dawn finally breaks.
...

مَولانا، أَنا أَعرِفُ هكَذا فَقَط… قصيدة
للشاعر پیشوا کاکەیی
...

They came across the Irish sea on cattle boats, fleeing hunger at every door.
The potato blight rottted the fields and took two million lives.
To Glasgow's Broomielaw they arrived from County Mayo, Dublin and Donegal they carried hope despite their ills.
Through the poverty they grew, to work with Irish hands, to build the ships of the Clyde, and with courage keep the irish culture alive with song and words, and worship the faith.
...

Sometimes life, like the breakers
large, and takes you unawares
You stand clutching thoughts,
memories, close
...

He sits in the blue glow of the late-night feed,
a digital gladiator in a suit that fits
the shape of a restless country.
He doesn't read the history books;
...

A colossal tent has been stretched
Above the entire settlement
Its canopy adorned with counterfeit lanterns of deceit
And within, among the creases of darkness,
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The Late Bloomer Baby Boomer - 9

Grading twelve aging seventeen Shiffman shifts my perspective
New breed of teacher far ahead of her time loving teaching
...

weeping under the grey sky
soaking mud clings to the cobblestones
making burping noises
as I walk home from work
...