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Shahida Latif Poems
Tears are pure transparent, The molten fluid of pangs,
Who has handed over the iron wands, Hammers, spanners to flowery hands? Who has killed all the twinkling worms, Snatching toys and dolls of fairylands?
An Untold Tale
In the miseries of life, Amid the grove of ambitions, At one night I alone pondered, What is this love, heathenness?
I Ask Someone To Resolve
Whenever I depart To the new destinations, Your memories Begin to emerge up in the mind.
The century passed and we were On the threshold of new millennium And heading towards the Millennium Dome: The dignity and pride of Greenwich.
God has the eyes that can observe, Into the subterranean layers of mind, To see the deep recesses of the thoughts, All occurrences pass in front of Him,
The Rise And Fall
When the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve, The Vice of all creatures rise from the seat, To the heavenly spheres contain in themselves, A pack of divine wisdom, fragrance of all roses,
The forsaken are recollected, The forgotten are remembered, But one who resides in the deep, Recesses of the temple of the heart,
We Live And Die Alone
What kind of talk we converse! What kind of words we speak! We only sieve, strain the words We sift the spoken verbalized sounds,
An Evident Soul
I am not confound and confused, Like any arguing philosopher, Or calculating mathematician, For I can observe with vivid vision,
The Settling Fog
“Save, save, save me from the brutal hands, ” The cries emerged early in the foggy morn, In the month of December in frosty cold. Then a volley of bullets was fired,
Drop the Weapons
Drop the weapons and hold in your hands, Tufts of coloured roses, the boughs of olives, Or handful of fragrant flowers of jasmine, Throw them all upon your enemies just once,
Pangs of the Motherland
Oh! Almighty, Omniscient, Omnipotent God, The Maker of all scheme of the universe, What wrongs blunderingly we have done, Which evoked the waves of mighty wrath,
The rabbit ran, ran and ran, To save the borrowed days of his life, To escape from the chasing wolves, And entered breathless into the hovel,
(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)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Tears are pure transparent,
The molten fluid of pangs,
Of grief, of sorrows,
And strengthless helplessness;
They seek the channels,
Founting from the founts of eyes,
And falling from the falls of lashes,
Travel, flow on the soft, slippery
Continents and plains of cheeks,
Through the valleys of wrinkles,
Watering the crops of beauty,
Enriching, gleaming furrows,
Tripling, flowing mix and merge,
Into the ocean of dust.