The Tale Of Love Poem by Nosheen Irfan

The Tale Of Love

Rating: 4.3


O love! Thou are not for me
My bleeding heart shall not hold thee
Thou made a home, in lonely dreams
A bird, in search of mountains and hills
O love! What did thou give me?
Ephemeral joy, filled with shadows
Scattered grains floating in the water
I held thee close to my chest
Thou stabbed me in the back
My verses lose rhyme, by thy grace
A splash of ink fills the yellow page
The tale of love is written on smoke
Adrift on the fickleness of wind


Nosheen Irfan © 2016
All Rights Reserved

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Souren Mondal 23 March 2016

It is an interesting take on love given it is written in archaic language.. Something of the past that love seems to be that have no place in the present scheme of things, or perhaps in future either.. However, like all things old we can always look at love too, from a sense of nostalgia.. An interesting poem Nosheen. Thanks for sharing.

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Barry Middleton 23 March 2016

Love it - especially the final lines - The tale of love is written on smoke / Adrift on the fickleness of wind. Sadly this has been my experience. I am old however so I have given up. Young people should keep trying to find lasting love. Truly I wish you good luck.

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Castellenas John 30 April 2019

A wonderful poem for love. Love can be sweet and love can us.

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Upendra Upm 07 July 2017

Beautiful poem.A bird in search of mountain and hills, scattered grains floating in the water.represent aptly the disappointment.written on smoke adrift in the fickleness of wind. wind and smoke together spoiling the show..! 0

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Seamus O Brian 19 October 2016

The tale of love is written on smoke. A beautiful line, haunting and so often true. Bravo, gifted poet. :)

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Aisha Rehman 01 April 2016

Wonderful piece! Loved it. All the best.

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Daniel Brick 25 March 2016

I agree with Barry below the last two lines are especially powerful. They cinch the mood of despair the poem conveys because smoke is no match for wind. This imagery tells us there is no hope. But - there is an indirect source of hope - The sonnet is a form that goes back at least 600 years and in adding to that tradition you affirm human speech, language itself as a source of meaning. The heart may be broken, but the mind triumphs giving voice to the heart's pain. The mind revives the wounded heart to live another day for another true love.

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Nosheen Irfan

Nosheen Irfan

Lahore, Pakistan
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