With a picture in my hand,
I am looking for a youth,
insane in love,
deaf and dumb,
lost somewhere,
in a fairy's garden,
while running madly,
on a narrow pavement,
with rows of roses,
each sides of the pavement,
where wind, too, is insane,
where flowers are excited
and dance wildly,
where birds are singing,
on the wind's guitar,
making colors ecstatic,
and aroma anesthetic,
tragedy with the youth
he is not a blind,
can watch and feel
and love beauty.
Last time he was seen,
while kissing a rose.
If anyone gets
the victim of love,
please, bring back him,
to his sweet beloved,
sitting close to a fountain,
with tears in her eyes,
and regrets in her heart.
youth is that fountain which must one day dry no matter how much one may try youth does die but in form aging skin and balding hair but the heart within remains youthful till aging is anage passed dream youth remains with in what a youth we all have enjoyed reading our past in your lovely verse tis as if yesterday we were in youth now 'tis worse left in memories as in these youthful verse let youth be the comma of our like not a coma where youthful memories die and within our lonely hearts we cry oh youth why did you have to come just to pass by
It is amazing how quickly youth seems to pass. To see the young of today waste theirs is sad.
And I think I know the whereabouts of this missing young chap, He has grown up now and has gained wisdom enough to defeat his past. Awesome Poem Janab...........Nicely thought...10+++
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
How different you look Akhtarji..... but as a young boy you don't look a naughty, restless one. There is a look of innocence. I don't see any wild dreams in those eyes. The face in the picture, I feel is that of a very obedient boy.... a darling of his parents! More than the poem, I love the picture!
The picture was taken when I was not lost, the boy you see was lost for ever and could not be seen anywhere.