Brown Eyes

By Khushi Singh

Brown eyes,
Deprived of ephemeral joys,
Looking heavenward,
In monochrome of sky.

Jinx of flighty clouds,
Blurring the vision of axinites,
Not letting them laze,
In tender arms of wind,
Tender arms, like Mother‘s.

The indigo curtain,
Embroidered with sequences of shine,
Reflecting enlivened energy,
Giving hope, to vanquish the oblivion.

The brown eyes,
Telling inscrutable tales,
Now close themselves,
In the lap of darkness.

Khushi Singh, a high-school student, is a reader by day and writer by the night, who tells story through poetry.

ایک چُپ

By Ataullah Kadak

آئی جب عوام کی بات، اُٹھے بہت سوالات
تو کہتے ہیں تم چُپ رہو

نقطہ نشیں ہوئے جب حکمرانوں کے خیالات
پھر ایک چُپ، تم چُپ رہو

لڑ پڑے جب عزتِ نفس کے خاطر ہم ملازم
پوچھتے ہیں تم کون ہو؟ تم چُپ رہو

نارے لگاۓ پھرتے ہیں، سوچ بدلو دیش بدلو
کرو جب نئ سوچ کی بات، تم چُپ رہو

چلو آج ٹھان لیں اور بیاں کریں اپنے جذبات
ایک چُپ انکے لئے جو کہتے ہیں تم چُپ رہو

Ataullah Kadak, an avid reader and writer, finds solace in words. He tries to pen down the emotions which can’t be expressed by tongue. He is fond of Urdu and also writes in English and Hindi. 
Instagram handle : ataullah_kadak4996

There Was A Place

By Kirti Santosh

There was a place, that I used to see,
In my dreams, every night, I did see,
A land that had, always,
Joy in all walkways.
A land that had in plenty,
Happiness in bounty.
A land that had lives making merry,
With their kith and kin, never worrying.

A land that had brotherhood,
Across every neighbourhood.
A land, that was synonymous to nature,
With harmony amongst every creature.
A land, that sadly seems
To be just in my dreams.

Kirti, an IT professional turned teacher, took into poetry writing during the lockdown in COVID year. Apart from being a voracious reader, she enjoys music, sports, and drawing. She loves reading and writing in many Indian languages. She is a good orator and loves to recite poems.

बेजान कमरा

By Aditi

सिमट गई हैं यादें सारी
दीवारों की तस्वीरों पर

खाली कमरा बेजान-सा
बेरंग-सी उसकी दीवारें

अरमानों से भरी कभी
उस कमरे की दीवारें थीं

तन्हाईयों का आज वहां
मंंज़र है पसरा पड़ा

नज़र ना आती अब वहां
भरी महफिल खुशियों की

बेजान-सा ये खाली कमरा
दास्ताँ एक बयां कर रहा

कमरे में जैसे छाया हुआ
एक सुना-सा मंजर है . . .

हर कोने में ख़ामोशी है
जहां कभी बहारे थीं

धूमिल हो गई रौनकें
खुशियां बिखर गईं

खाली कुर्सियां कर रही
वक़्त का इन्तज़ार हैं

खोया-सा लगता है
कमरा अब ये बेजान सा

खोयी-सी लगती हैं
खुशियां इन दीवारों की

शायद ढूंढ़ रहा है कमरा
क़दमों के निशां किसी के

खुला दरवाजा इन्तज़ार में है
किसी के लौट आने के

बेजान कमरा यादों से भरा

Aditi, a silent, quiet and true soul, who finds true peace by expressing herself through poetry, wants to work for the betterment of the country and to spread happiness and positivity through her work.
Instagram Handle : @wordings.of.heart


By Shalini Singh

कितने अजीब होते हैं ये दायरे भी,
जो कभी दो दिलों को मिला कर जुदा कर देते हैं,
या कभी दो दिलों को मिलने से रोक देते हैं।

ज़िंदगी में हर चीज़ का अपना एक सबब,
और अपनी एक रवानी है,
पर दायरों मे लिपटी चीजों की,
कुछ अलग सी ही कहानी है।

बड़े अजीब होते हैं ये दायरे भी,
कहने को तो सिर्फ तीन अक्षर हैं,
दो मात्राओं के संग,
फ़िर भी इनका वज बेमिसाल है,
प्यार के ढ़ाई अक्षर की तरह,
इसका रुतबा भी कमाल है।

बड़े अजीब हैं ये दायरे भी,
जो मन की मनमर्जियों को रोक देते हैं,
कुछ बेड़ियों मे बाँध कर,
थक जाता है हर इश्क़ भी,
इन दायरों के आगे हारकर,
हैं ना, कितने अजीब ये दायरे!

Shalini Singh, from Maharashtra, India, is a student and loves to write poetry.

Story Behind The Prettiest Smile

By Amtul Ayesha

A woman with beautiful eyes
And a heart full of joy

Never says never to toil
And always ready to sacrifice

Flows her sweat for a while
And never complaints a bit of chores

Whenever she sees her child
Wants to accomplish his all desires

A buddy of the kitchen and knife
Who rules it with great height

A companion of her offsprings and heirs
Who gives motivation and trail

A story behind the prettiest smile

Amtul Ayesha, a student of mathematics, loves to expound her thoughts and pen them down on a piece of paper. Her pen is the voice of her heart and ink of her soul, by the grace of Almighty.

I Was Out Of Words

By Neha Afzaal

I was out of words
When I saw you today
Nothing was same
Everything has changed

I was out of words
When I saw my hands today
They were all empty
Everything has gone away

I was out of my words
When I saw my face today
There was no shine
Every feature is dropping again

I was out of my words
When I saw the sky today
There was a darkness everywhere
Every star is moving away

I was out of my words
When I heard your voice today
Nothing felt in heart
Everything seems different

Neha Afzaal is a linguist.

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

آتی ہی نا تھی

By Umar khan

آتی ہی نا تھی مجھ کو گفتگو کرنا
اک کلی سے ہے سیکھی خوشبو جو کرنا
تم مہکنا صحن میں کلیوں کے جیسے
میرے گھر چاندنی اے ماہرو کرنا

دیکھنا، سوچنا، بس اس کے بارے میں
عاشقی میں فقط دل، تو ہی تو کرنا
درگزر اپنے عاشق کی خطا کرلو
خون بہتا ہے دلبر، دل رفو کرنا

ہے یہ ممکن کہ عاشق چین میں آئے
جلوہ یوں نور کا اے خوبرو کرنا
دیکھو تم بھی کسی سے کم نہیں دلبر
پہلے اپنے حسن کی آبرو کرنا

میں کسی کا نہیں، بھاگوں محبت سے
چھوڑ دو ساجنا میری جستجو کرنا
عربی میں خطبہ دینا چاہے زاہد، پر
شاعری میں محبت اردو کو کرنا

روح کو صاف کرنا تن کی لذت سے
عشق کرنا تو لوگوں باوضو کرنا
اُمّیٓ تم آستانہ خود ہی بن جانا
معرفت کی مہک میں “اللّٰہ ہو” کرنا

Umar Khan, 24, from Islamabad, Pakistan, is studying Project Management from SZABIST and working as a CRM officer in Beacon Investment, Gulberg.
Instagram handle – @ukwrites96

Pain Of Betrayal

By Rekha Khanna

Pain of betrayal, leaves u half dead.
Ur heart will be beating, but emotions will be missing.
An unseen aura will start following you in the form of curse
Which will not allow you to smile ever again.
This curse will follow you till your death.
If you try to recollect yourself,
Pain of betrayal will rise again n try to stop you to rebuild yourself.
With every passing day, knife of betrayal will cut your heart n mind slowly
And replace it with pain, agony, restlessness, loneliness and sometimes, revenge too.
Betrayal will test your capacity too.
If you are a little strong to bear the shock,
Then it will become a slow poison and kill you day by day.
If you are weak to bear it,
It will prompt you to suicide.
Betrayal, the feeling of this, will never leave your hand.
It will always provoke you to take revenge
Or choose death .

Rekha Khanna tries to mold feelings into words, each time pouring a new passion on the paper.

Plethora Of Words

By Affaf Sheikh

Plethora of words
Captivate my mind,
Words heal my oozing lesions.
My words soothe me,
Enthrall my soul,
I can’t imagine my life,
Without them.
These voiceless words
Shout out loud,
In a crowd or to yourself.
These words engrave me.
I spellbound world
By creating magic with my words.
They are a reason to escape,
From demons within
And ground for my survival.

Affaf Sheikh, a lethal combo of honesty and hardwork, is professionally a Research Pharmacist, while passionately a writer, poet and critic. Her ideology and mantra is, ” My work sketches me.”

Far Below Flowed

Fruit Gathering (Poem Number 12)

By Ravindranath Tagore

Far below flowed the Jumna, swift and clear, above frowned the jutting bank.
Hills dark with the woods and scarred with the torrents were gathered around.
Govinda, the great Sikh teacher, sat on the rock reading scriptures, when Raghunath, his disciple, proud of his wealth, came and bowed to him and said, “I have brought my poor present unworthy of your acceptance.”
Thus saying he displayed before the teacher a pair of gold bangles wrought with costly stones.
The master took up one of them, twirling it round his finger, and the diamonds darted shafts of light.
Suddenly it slipped from his hand and rolled down the bank into the water.
“Alas,” screamed Raghunath, and jumped into the stream.
The teacher set his eyes upon his book, and the water held and hid what it stole and went its way.
The daylight faded when Raghunath came back to the teacher tired and dripping.
He panted and said, “I can still get it back if you show me where it fell.”
The teacher took up the remaining bangle and throwing it into the water said, “It is there.”

That Lonely Tree

By Kritika Sharma

That lonely tree,
Gives the feeling of strength to me,
It has lost its leaves,
But is still standing straight,
In a barren land,
Just as a human being smiles,
With a broken heart,
The tree is watching the birds,
Flying above it,
But it doesn’t lose hope,
Just as human beings watch,
Others going ahead of them,
But still they try to cope,
Today’s scenario ,
This tree describes,
We should withstand every situation,
If we want to survive

Kritika Sharma, from Haryana, India, is a student of Microbial Biotechnology. An optimistic soul, she searches for happiness in everything.

ظالِمانَہ اِنْسانِیَت

By Ataullah Kadak

سوکھی شاخوں پر پرِندے نہیں بیٹھا کرتے
جہاں دیکھو وہاں بس درِندے ہی ہیں نظر آتے

بنجر زمین پر اب کوئی گھانس تک نہیں اُگتی
بس معصوموں کی چیخیں کانوں میں ہیں چُبھتی

در در بھٹکتے ہیں بس مارے پھرتے
مُحبّت کے سائے اب کہیں نہیں دِکھتے

پانی مانگو تو زہر پیالوں میں ہیں بھرتے
یہاں اپنے کم اپنوں میں سانپ زیادہ بستے

یہاں کوئی محفوظ نہیں جان لے اے عطا
خود مخلوق یہاں خدا کے داوے ہیں کرتے

Ataullah Kadak, an avid reader and writer, finds solace in words. He tries to pen down the emotions which can’t be expressed by tongue. He is fond of Urdu and also writes in English and Hindi. 
Instagram handle : ataullah_kadak4996


By Toru Dutt

A sea of foliage girds our garden round,
But not a sea of dull unvaried green,
Sharp contrasts of all colours here are seen;
The light-green graceful tamarinds abound
Amid the mangoe clumps of green profound,
And palms arise, like pillars gray, between;
And o’er the quiet pools the seemuls lean,
Red,—red, and startling like a trumpet’s sound
But nothing can be lovelier than the ranges
Of bamboos to the eastward, when the moon
Looks through their gaps, and the white lotus changes
Into a cup of silver. One might swoon
Drunken with beauty then, or gaze and gaze
On a primeval Eden, in amaze.