Samii

April| Mikael De lara co

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. -Dylan Thomas

Every morning when I wake, Dear Lord, a little prayer I make, O please do keep Thy lovely eye On all poor creatures born to die And every evening at sun-down I ask a blessing on the town, For whether we last the night or no I'm sure is always touch-and-go. We are not wholly bad or good Who live our lives under Milk Wood, And Thou, I know, wilt be the first To see our best side, not our worst. O let us see another day! Bless us all this night, I pray, And to the sun we all will bow And say, good-bye – but just for now! -Dylan Thomas

This poem is about scars of oppression and bigotry in Kashmir and i dedicate this one to all the Kashmiris in and out there and i want to let them know you're not alone in this... the day shall come when the devil will be punished and prisoned for the evil he has committed against humanity.✊ This poem is written by me and recited by me however i dnt own any part of the music used in this...

A poem by ~Tehzeeb hafi

A poem written by Tehzeeb Hafi

No smoke without you, my fire.  After you left,  your cigarette glowed on in my ashtray  and sent up a long thread of such quiet grey  I smiled to wonder who would believe its signal  of so much love. One cigarette  in the non-smoker's tray.  As the last spire  trembles up, a sudden draught  blows it winding into my face. Is it smell, is it taste?  You are here again, and I am drunk on your tobacco lips.  Out with the light.  Let the smoke lie back in the dark.  Till I hear the very ash  sigh down among the flowers of brass  I'll breathe, and long past midnight, your last kiss. Edwin Morgan

Teri khushbuu nahin milti, tera lehja nahin milta, Humen to sheher main koi tere jaisa nahin milta, Yeh kesi dhund main hum tum safar aghaaz kar bethe, Tumhe ankhen nahin milti, humen chehra nahin milta, Har ik tadbeer apni raayegaan thehri mohabbat main, Kisi bhi khawb ko tabeer ka rasta nahin milta, Bhala us ke dukhon ki raat ka koi mudaava hai, Woh maan jis ko kabhi khoya hua bacha nahin milta.

About the poem: ‘No Leaders Please' is a poem by Charles Bukowski, it's from one of his books, 'The Pleasures of the Damned'. This poem is a reminder to remain a free spirit and never letting anyone else decide who you are. The tags that people provide you don't define you and that your independence is yours and yours alone. Although the poem doesn't mention leaders, the title does, and the content suggests a rejection of leadership. About the author: Charles Bukowski, (Henry Charles Bukowski, Jr.) was born August 16, 1920, Andernach, Germany and was brought to United States by his father at the age of two. He grew in America. He is known as a prolific underground writer who used his poetry and prose to depict the vices of urban society and highlight the typicality of America. Bukowski relied on experience, emotion, and imagination in his work, using direct language and violent and sexual imagery which is evident in his poems. He died March 9, 1994 in San Pedro, California, U.S.

Agha Shahid Ali, an Indian-American Kashmiri poet, was born on 4 February 1949, New Delhi, India. He was born in a respected Agha family of Srinagar. Shahid was schooled at the Burn Hall School later he went to University of Kashmir and Hindu college, University of Delhi. He left for United States in 1976 and in 1984 he earned a PhD in English from Pennsylvania state university and in 1985 an M.F.A from university of Arizona. He was at teaching positions at nine universities and colleges in India as well as United States. Agha has written nine poetry collections, a collection of ghazals and a book of literary criticism (1986). He has also translated a collection of Faiz Ahmad Faiz's poetry(1992) and edited Ravishing Disunities: Real Ghazals in English (2000). Agha was known for his unique blend of multiple ethnic influences and ideas in his work. His Hindu, Muslim and Western heritage are reflected in his works. Agha started publishing his work in the early 1970s but his collection "A walk through the Yellow Pages" was the reason he gained widespread recognition. His famous work include: "A walk though the Yellow Pages"(1987), "The Half-inch Himalayas"(1987), "A Nostalgist's Map of America"(1991), "The Country Without a Post Office"(1997), and "Rooms are never Finished"(2001), the later a finalist for the National Book Award. Agha Shahid Ali was later diagnosed with brain cancer and died of it on December 8 2001 in Amherst, Massachusetts.

] "On the Necessity of Sadness" -

Tonight I Can Write (The Saddest Lines) Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example, 'The night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.' The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Through nights like this one I held her in my arms. I kissed her again and again under the endless sky. She loved me, sometimes I loved her too. How could one not have loved her great still eyes. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her. To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture. What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is starry and she is not with me. This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance. My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer. My heart looks for her, and she is not with me. The same night whitening the same trees. We, of that time, are no longer the same. I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her. My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing. Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses. Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes. I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long. Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her. Translation by W. S. Merwin

Alone is a poem that offers the reader a glimpse into the mind of Edgar Allan Poe. He was often seen as being different, and his writing, in many cases, was so dark that it alienated him. In this poem, he acknowledges that from a very young age he knew that he was different. He goes on to say that he never enjoyed the things that others did and he never found sorrow in that which others did. Poe describes many things in which almost everyone would gaze at in awe and wonder - like lightning, mountains, and other natural wonders - but he did not. These symbols also serve to give the reader a sense that time is passing by. Poe was drawn away from the natural beauty of these things by the "demon" in his view. This demon could be interpreted in many ways, but most likely represents death and his deep loneliness. In general, the title represents how Poe has always been alone and isolated in the way he perceived himself and all around him.

This is dedicated to all the broken and hopless one's out there,i justt want to tell you that hold on dont let go,the dawn is coming and everything will be alright,dont let the warrior die in you....you will make it, believe in yourself ✊

"Yaad usey bhi ik adhora afsana hoga"