POETS’ CORNER

Poems forever

Sea-Fever

By John Masefield

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by.

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea’s face and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the seagulls crying.

I must down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

Whispers of flame

By Abid Agha

I often see clay lamps,

Lit at shrines in sacred rites,

During weddings' joyous nights,

And amidst the festive glow.

They burn with tender fervour’s flow.

Captivating every gaze.

These priceless little lamps,

when lit in the dark,

Cast a light that softly spreads.

They flicker in a tranquil dance,

That mirrors the spirit’s reverence.

Their whispering flames tell stories,

Of ancient tales and promised glory.

So let these clay lamps illuminate,

Not just spaces,

But hearts too,

A symbol of hope, serenity and love.

In their gentle flicker,

Dreams are renewed.

Without knowing

By Noor Fatima

I am growing without knowing

Where I am going, where life is flowing.

I don't know what lies ahead,

Or where this winding road will lead.

My fear is slowly drowning,

Like rain that keeps on falling.

I am changing day by day,

Without knowing what to say.

I am going where life is taking me,

Trusting what tomorrow may be.

I may be scared of breaking down,

But I won't let fear hold me down.

I may seem normal from outside,

While many questions stay inside.

I don't know where I will go,

But I will walk and learn as I grow.

Maybe I don't need to know

Which way the road will turn or go.

I'll keep moving, come what may,

And find my path along the way.

The art of eye contact

By Tooba Samad

Sometimes, we feel unable to say out loud,

Not merely because we are scared,

Not because we wish to never explain ourselves,

But because some moments aren't meant to be shared,

Some echoes aren't intended to be expressed in words,

Sometimes, a quiet language is enough for the confession,

That is the language of "eye contact."

A language that is understood,

Without a noise, word or a sign.

A language carried in the silence between two gazes.

The silent communication where a single glance can reveal what lips cannot.

But, not everyone is meant to understand this language,

Not every gaze is needed to be decoded,

In certain times, silence is not a burden to be interpreted or carried,

But a secret beautiful enough to leave unspoken.