My world –

An institution of memoirs,

Reverberates a mellow time.

Spent silently —

Hollow, but full of noise.

The orchestra of life,

Keeps playing pain and joy

Through lone nights in drowsy voice

Commitment and remembrance —

O’ Beloved my choice.





A wish, a supplication, a desire to see an elegant beauty of endurance, the only conceptual truth that the heart knows and brain keeps trying to carry out. The ability of synchronizing pictures into a flow of a perfect scene like notes of the music aligned on one sheet producing mesmerizing beats and sinking hearts in an ode of classical melodies. A series of phantasmagoria that develop in the darkness of the night like small parachutes of the dandelion forming a beautiful yet too delicate flower. This is a beauty of the dream rising from nowhere, when even the psyche holds no hint if it is playing along the mass lying in the strata of the comfort cozy place, contributing to the creation of a fantasy. The aspiration is just not for a dreamer to see and enjoy, simply for a persona it is an ability to set a foundation during dark and host it as a fortune to the world during the day.

With the Oceanic depth,

Flowing and then resting forever,

Within the cast of the gambler, “the red mass”,

They mimic the truth and the lies of the world.

Away from the lips,

Untouched by the foreign ink,

They die poisonously for one thought,

From where, none ever returned back.

Dead! As if the poet was never born,

The couplets stay, echoing within the core,

To whom the pensive mood was a friend,

And the virtual calmness, the reflection.

Featured image

P.S: This is student’s dream. Difficult to understand and harmless to be executed, but enough of strength needed to get it finished.


“Take Me Home….”

Like the sunlight waking up from the dark,
Forgetting all flaws of the past,
Nurturing a day in the lap of the spring flowers,
Take me home and settle me same.

Like the shades of the supper time,
Birds rushing to fill thy crops and collect the grains,
Tired! Still too young to feed thee home,
Take me home and settle me same.

Like the moonlight settling in the dark,
Making promise of a beautiful time,
Cuddlng in a twinkle of the stars,
Take me home and settle me same.



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“Dolesome Voice”

The bride left with no colours

Habilimented in the velvety white.

Close to the nature,

Relinquished by the crowd.

Youthful! Yet too tired,

Not of the dead cells but of the silence around.

Alone strengthening the voice,

To be heard and accompanied by someone nice.

Riding into the forest of no notes,

Searching the owner of the old ragged boots.

Smell of the skin and arch of feet,

Still same since the moment they were tamed.

In remembrance of the soul,

That smuggled into the last winter snow.

Leaving behind an impression of the hope,

Guiding an unknown to the path lone.

Like the waves reverberating from the river behind,

She believes one day sound may travel to her life.

Dolesome voice




The autumn on way to goodbye,

Waves back the cool breeze,

Gives me goose bumps,

Relocates me back to the mornings,

When the snow topped mountains shine again,

Welcoming the spring,

Bringing the hope of the life again.

The silhouette of the naked tree,

Calmness of the autumnal eve,

Harvesting for the winter approaching by,

And smoke forming patterns in the sky.

Reflecting the end of the life,

All this while collecting things for to survive.


~A. N

Pearls of the Poverty

The roadway was all deserted,

Street lights making images,

Some were of naked, and

Some of rolling bones.

I walked but couldn’t see,

An immature drinking salt,

The mute voice he carried.

Ah! I stumbled hard,

With a sore throat and a dry tongue,

Pupil glowing under the star beam,

Gazing at me,

Starved and ragged,

Human nature called me,

I stepped with a lost scarf,

Forgot the misery,

Searched the bond,

No colour, No caste,

Searching the one lost.

Paupers crying for pennies,

And I, for grandeur.

They grumbled,


“This World, a jury of miseries,

We the marionettes,

Designed for torturous ligatures,

Systematising fortunes,

For bank of presidents.

Decorating our castle,

Out of worn out candles, and

Dining a table of empty vessels,

For the pearls of the poverty.”


 I stepped to talk,

And  found my lost veil,

Stuck the pin,

Searched the pocket,

The loaf! It wasn’t desired,

Money! I never tried.

In thoughts the night passed by,

Thinking about the denial,

Of fulfilling the need,

Questioning self,

“Are these complaints then out of greed ?”




P.S:  Help the needy in the best way you can but never put a penny in their hand instead fulfil their desire. Your penny turns them handicapped your help in the right way will give them power to live the life.


“An Impression Of A Hope.”

Little Bulbul flew too high, worrying and fluttering the wings to reach before the sun will surrender its light to the night. As the sun was leaving the sky was appearing no less than a furnace spreading the waves of hope and a promise to meet again and rise from east. Though the scene was too tempting to resist the flight and watch the sun waving goodbye for one more night but the concern of reaching home in time was drinking the sweat.

Halfway to the destination met the joy, the joy of a time, it spoke for a minute that could save her from an anger of the family but the change in a mood is never predictable, so was true for the clouds travelling through the empty sky. Now with every passing second the sky was being sleeved with the dense dark clouds forming the images of the scary creature never seen before.

Through the day they were calm, nowhere I could spot them, where since they made in, “Bulbul of my town whispering to self”.

Ah! May be I should have not hoped much of the joy out of a little time. Joys! They surely don’t last longer. Fluttering harder to make fast to home before the rain could hit the town.

Thunder! Lightening! Thunder! Thunder! And lightening!  Scared but rushing. Flying underneath the trees, rooftops, sheds and what not.

O’ Rain have some mercy on this very little creature, hopelessly she whispered. And the loud thunderclap! And there after she collapsed to the wall.

bulbul and rain


“How could I forget nature doesn’t obey the wishes all time?”, Said she in a quite low tone hanging her head in a deep anguish. It’s all together independent and rules the way it wishes.

A moment of respite, taking deep breaths, cursing the time and worrying with every tic tac of the seconds passing by. At last, against the odds of the nature decided to fly, fly for the young ones who would be afraid of the unwanted guests, clouds, putting in the sky and would be hungry as the day has passed waiting for the mother, anticipating for food to fill their crop. Flapped her wings, through the angry weeping sky, took an optimistic flight but the swevit kept building on with a sound of the thunder and the lightning flashing up the sky.

She was quite near to the destination when she saw the flares making up to the sky. She snuffed smoke in the air. It smelled livelihood, hope, sweat, and much much more. O’ it smells wood too. This gave her a set back. The tired wings couldn’t now fight against the gush of the air, the body weighed more with a pain, fear and panic gripping the little heart.

“O’ Lord! No more of this day”, the choked voice and the broken words. Even before Bulbul had reached the place she broke, remorse filled the eyes, the unseen tears went mixed in the shower of the rain, hopeless and hapless she flew ahead.

The smoke had caged up the midtown where the tallest tree stood sheltering her young ones and their beautiful nest. The haze made up the scary images, sometimes the burned little ones and sometimes the broken nest flashed on her inward eye. By now all she knew was “Midtown hosted a fire”.


Midtown hosted a fire,
Boots, slippers and naked feet,
Spotless living and the hopeless faces,
Cries, waves, tears and runs,
Scattered all over,
The fruits of abandoned tree.
Water spilled,
Flares dancing,
In the sky, Smoke!
Forming images,
Ashes spinning around,
Leaving bruises behind.
Mini Salt Lakes,
Adding on the rosy faces,
Within no time,
Money, jewel and edifices
All kissing the dust,
No fame but the name,
Speck of hope,
And deeds more,
Sanguine step,
And a life ahead.


Just a meters away she heard a women’s group thanking almighty for the shower. “Yes! It was a blessing indeed”, one of the women said.

How could they say rain is a blessing? Did they forget my children? She kept on troubling herself with questions and cries.

“Hadn’t the rain made in at the right time the whole town would have been ashed down”, another lady added. Surely! The almighty has its own way, said the first lady.

Curiously! “Did you people witness how rain saved the tree? Hadn’t the cloud burst taken place the tree would have been on fire and the whole town would have been lost to flares of misery and the pain.”, added another lady patting the child on the shoulder.

Does this mean my little ones are safe?, the Bulbul said.

“Thank God!”, What more I would have wished.

Beating the wings faster, with the content of joy, she flew through the smoke forgetting everything and finally reached to the destination, to her young ones. Held them tight, fed them, chanted lullaby and made them sleep in peace.

So, the story came to an end and I woke from the dream. This time I wasn’t searching answers but I got the lesson. Lesson for an entire life, “Hopelessness is a sin”.

Now you might be thinking how it turned sin? Right? Well! Bulbul got trapped in calamity, she cursed the rain, the moment but hadn’t the rain been on time she would have lost her young ones.

Joys! They don’t last longer. Well! Actual joy was waiting for her but she turned hopeless even before she could have met the worst.

Never blame the situation. The Almighty Allah plans all well. He doesn’t leave one in a situation which he/she can’t withstand. Thank the Almighty for everything. Say, “Alhumdulil’lah” for everything.