This poem is the byproduct of anger against the burning of over 30 schools in the Kashmir valley amidst civil unrest. It is disturbing to see how low humanity can stoop and what horrors it can bring forth.
This poem is a translation of a poem I wrote long back. The original title was बीता हुआ जीवन and it is the voice of a person who is about to die and is evaluating his life in his final moments.
A poem dedicated to all poets who observe the poetry around them and put it forth for the world.
This poem is about the increasing violence in the name of religion by people who probably do not understand the concept of religion in itself.
This Loneliness in the crowd, this clumsiness out of sophistication, this wickedness disguised in sweet words, and my poor happiness struggling for attention.
Poetry can be loosely defined as language in its most distilled and powerful form. It can be in any of the 6500 languages of the world, and is a really powerful form of expression.
हर खामोशी के पीछे एक सैलाब उमड़ने कॊ है खड़ा, पर दुनिया के इन सवालों में कुछ तेज़ाब हॊता है । इंसान सोचता है कभी मिलेगा एक पल सुकून का पर कुदरत का खुशी से कुछ इंतकाम होता है ।
When these gliding bits of paper sway and float in the sky, resemble an epitome of human ardour high and high and high!
I thought one day that between gold and copper who is the one better and deserving? Gold, the one famous for its lustre and beauty, or copper that makes it enduring.
Here’s how dreams work for a constantly dreaming person 🙂 Sometimes sweet, sometimes ecstatic. Often scary, but always classic. For every situation and at every stake, My poor heart has a dream to make!