Poems forever

Alone

By Walter de la Mare

The abode of the nightingale is bare,

Flowered frost congeals in the gelid air,

The fox howls from his frozen lair:

Alas, my loved one is gone,

I am alone:

It is winter.

Once the pink cast a winy smell,

The wild bee hung in the hyacinth bell,

Light in effulgence of beauty fell:

I am alone:

It is winter.

My candle a silent fire doth shed,

Starry Orion hunts o'erhead;

Come moth, come shadow, the world is dead:

Alas, my loved one is gone,

I am alone;

It is winter.

The wind and your fading shadows

By Abid Agha

This evening breeze carries something

not quite a sound, not quite a scent.

Maybe your laughter, light as mist,

still wanders through these lonely streets,

pretending you never left.

The pines bend softly when it passes,

as if they’ve known your absence too.

Each leaf trembles with a memory,

each sigh glows with the echo of your shadow.

There’s so much to say, so much to undo.

Even the silence has grown tender;

it hums your name against my skin.

And though the world has learned to move on,

I still hear you in the tender, cooling breeze.

It touches my hair like you once did,

gentle, unsure, afraid to stay,

then drifts away into the night,

just as you did that final day.

Heartache

By Amna Ameer

When history writes itself,

The queen and the pawn

Will return to the same box.

Through graves of mistakes

And regrets,

There will be a eulogy of the past,

And everything will be seen

Through rose-colored glasses.

The strawberry-tinted hue

Will camouflage the jaundiced bruises.

The mauve borders

Around my eyes and shoulders

Will be hidden under the cloak

Of righteousness and naivety,

Or may be calculated manipulation.

Each event will be rewritten

From a pedestal of piety.

But my heart will mourn

Its own death.

It will sit by the grave

And see the end of a funeral

Of who I used to be

Before this story was written.

My wounds will tell a tale

Far different from the one inked to paper.

I will subdue myself

To the thoughts that may be justice

Will be granted in another life.

For now, I pay homage

To the dwindling sense of time,

Hoping I'll find some meaning

In the persistent heartache

Memories

By Maryam Shah

It’s never easy to let go.

Memories haunt,

Places echo

Of us once being there together.

And people ask,

“Are you two still together?”

It hurts,

It truly does.

But eventually,

People find people,

Memories fade,

Places grow silent,

And people move on.

But the scars,

They remain.