Tags Posts tagged with "Poetry"

Poetry

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My heart cried after mass collided with mass.. The blast deafening.. What’s left is flesh turned to ash.. Our own reckoning.. When can we scream at last at last! But the wars never cease to be ending.. In streets and blocks.. In countries in locks.. In mass and mosques.. In masks.. beneath the cloth.. For causes forgotten long before we ever remembered if we ever had cause.. So this is a cry to the forgotten and lost.. For the ones rotten and gone.. buried beneath stone and rubble.. Where gun powder meets metal.. Where the power of the sun is

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How desperate we are to laugh- To chime with a can of laughter- Exhaling nervous relief, Reassured that it wasn’t a can of worms.   A concert is over. See you at the next one.   In the meantime We shall continue to create and assimilate The sweetest music ever- Silence. * Ankita Anand is the co-founder of a street theatre group called Aatish. She has been secretary, National Campaign for People’s Right to Information, and member, People’s Union for Democratic Rights. Her published works can be read at anandankita.blogspot.com

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Funeral: Thousands of people gathered in the Gaza Strip 15 November for the funeral of Ahmed Ja'abari, the commander of the military wing of the Palestinian Hamas movement. His casket was being taken to the al-Omari mosque in Gaza City for a prayer service before burial. By Muzammil Karim Tonight, I am Gaza Tonight, my love Don’t love me Tonight, don’t! Tonight, don’t tell me The pains of our separation Tonight, don’t show me your tearful eyes Tonight, don’t hold me back With your sweet voice Tonight, don’t ask me to dress my wounds Tonight, don’t remind me of our

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 سمیہ فردوس ہانٹھ سورُۓ شہر چھُ دارِ بَر ترؤپرِتھ ژء تہِ جانانا  ہانکل تھاو یَنۂ  کالۂ  ؤنل پشپےیۂ میاٰنس سینس مَنز تنۂ  وآنجہ ِ لؤگم شُشر بچہ دانہِ گوم وَٹھ شَہَس ژام  وَرَ میون یہ ماجُت تھر تھرِء لَد پریْتھ جمعہ نیْمازِ  پتۂ بانبرِ، تنبلہِ، تیلہِ تۂ  وؤشلہِ بَجۂ مشیدِ ہنزِ ڈیڈِ تَل ٹئیر گیسچ  ؤنل کھسہِ میانیْن چشمن پؤس  بَنہِ میون جگر کنہِ جنگۂ  پتۂ وآنجہِ گژھْیم چھگ جانانا ژء بیْہ لؤتہِ پآٹھی میانہِ  دلچہِ  کال کوٹھرِ مَنز ہانکل دِتھ ارمان بْنِتھ زیْنہ برونٹھٕے جیل کڈ٠ ٠سمیر راہ سندِ باپتھ، یسند موصوم تن ٢٠١٠ہس منز وحشیانہ تشددک شکار سپد

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By  Shubhrastha Cultivated love withers with weather-ed change. Just as the radios distributed have withered away in rust, in want of signals- that hang limply in desperate search. The tendons of snapped cables, doctored channels, filtered news. News freeze in memory too curfewed to kiss the caskets called brain sockets- just as my neighbor’s blood lies buried under layers of this snowy ‘paradise’ in an awaited wish to unstiffen and thaw. To release bloody tears of ‘special status’ happiness. Can you see the bunkers behind the green paints? Or do you think it’s the lush green valley rosy with bloody

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By Shubh Mathur Chrar-i-Sharief Some day After the Occupation we will return to Chrar-i-Sharief and remember. Weeping at the tomb miraculously spared by the fire the soldiers set to burn the town. The people who told of hiding for three days in the mountains while fire and artillery reduced their homes to rubble and ash. The barbed wire soldiers checkposts surrounding the rebuilt town. We will return to the shrine on the hilltop and greet the saint feed the pilgrims and the pigeons. Smile. Some day. The Meadows Some day After the Occupation We will take a picnic to the

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Forcing themselves off the birch. Those dried leaves were jittery.   Hot summer winds. Do not trouble you under their shade.   There is no fixed time. When you cannot be at peace with ease.   Though crimes can never be predicted. Your pride is itself a crime.   As opaque as a hazy tone. Your sight is itself a disguise.   Soheb Niazi has completed his Masters in Political Science from Jawaharlal Nehru University, Delhi.

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A little fascinated by the globe, Plaything, she lost and groped.  Rummaged through her many toys Vexed with them, cavalier chides   A little doll under the bed, Missing hair, eyes and leg. Looked to her quite dead. Satiated by the poor thing.   Traded it with her gullible kin. Sometimes this child lives inside of me. Loosing God’s precious gifts. Oblivious of the other beings .   Trivial dreams and perpetual greed. Pursues things she has never seen. Thought of putting the child to sleep. Stealing my life, cutting deep.   Stands outside watching burning streaks. Cries aloud when

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I am your most loving mother. Your ever caring sister, my brother.   I am your better half- your wife. Your daughter whom you consider your life.   I take care of you, live for you. Don’t I deserve a bit of respect, too?   I sacrifice my joys, happiness and everything. In return, don’t I deserve even something?   I supress my thought for I fear. You’ll feel agonized if you hear.   More than me you safeguard the gold. Is it my marriage or I am being sold?   So to say, you gave me freedom. But I

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ثنا ساُری پٕرِو سانین گرن منز ژایہ آزادی سیٹھاه یٕژ کاُلی اَسہ کُن جلوہ  ہاوان آیہ آزادی یہ آزادی گوڈٕنی درایہ ییلہ ننی هندوستانس منز لَچَھو پاُٹھی آیہ اِنسانن لَدان تٕلہ کرایہ آزادی غریبی مُفلسی بے بوج سٕتی هیتھ خانہ واُرانی اَمی رٕژِ ترایہ اَسہ پیٹھ آیہ تراوان سایہ آزادی یَمے چیز اَسہ غُلامن اُسی ظالم زورٕ ملی هیاوان کٕنان تی بازارن اندر کٕرِتھ مُلہ مایہ آزادی یہ آزادی چھیہ کوکراه جان سونہ سٕند ٹھول کینهہ تٕراوِن تِمے کینھہ ٹھول هیتھ بیٹھمژ بَیِیہ پرایہ آزادی یہ آزادی چھیہ سورگچ حور پھیر یا خانہ پتہ خانَے فقط کینژَن گَرن منز چھیہ

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