Archive for March, 2007

March 27th, 2007

A Dirge

Posted in Poems by Kunal Goel

Rough Wind, that moanest loud
Grief too sad for song;
Wild wind, when sullen cloud
Knells all the night long;
Sad storm, whose tears are vain,
Bare woods, whose branches strain,
Deep caves and dreary main, _
Wail, for the world’s wrong!

-Percy Bysshe shelley.

March 13th, 2007

One Hour

Posted in Ali Sultan, Short stories by alisultan

One Hour

There is no sun that shines here. The only light that comes through is from the tube light that hangs above me, the other one is broken. There are flies everywhere, on the tables, on the walls, inside dishes, on haggard faces and sun burnt hands. Scribbling love letters and smitten with disease.

More

March 9th, 2007

Split The Pain

Posted in Neha Jhingon, Poems by Neha

It was that day you left
To never come back again
That I decided to divide
The things you left behind.

I get the cup you broke
The day we made love
On the slab of the kitchen
You can keep the rest of them More

March 7th, 2007

Jo Baat Hai Dil Mein

Posted in Love, Neha Jhingon, Poems by Neha

*First attempt at urdu Shayari*

Dil-e-aatish humein aasim banaya aapne,
Tammanaon ko naasur-e-aaraa kiya aapne,
Aashuftah chale they aashiyan ko apne,
Bejurm itlaaf ke humein hawale kiya aapne

O fire in my heart, you turned me into a sinner,
Turned all my desires into embellished wounds,
Tired to my core, when i thought of returning home,
You turned in my faultless soul to the ultimate ruin.

- Neha

March 5th, 2007

shair (urdu)

Posted in Hindi, Sheikha by Sheikha

Waqt dhoka de gaya mujhe lekin
Tumhari yaadein abhi baaki hai
Kitni jaldi doobta hai suraj aur raat
Doob jaati hai apne hi andhere mein.

–Sheikha.

March 5th, 2007

Silence of Centuries

Posted in Figments, Neha Jhingon by Neha

Silently, she left the dining table, the food on her plate still untouched. She struggled with her tears, lest they betray her sadness. Upon reaching her room and securing the door with the latch, she let out the flood of emotions inside her.

Yes. It is true. She was never a good daughter. She never thought of anyone but herself. She looked at the marks of the past on her body, cigarette burnt flesh and cuts from the shards of glass – the irremovable marks that he inflicted her with. Yes. She was selfish. Because she had loved. And because her love had abandoned her in her time of need. More

March 4th, 2007

Vehement Composure

Posted in Mark, Poems by Mark

The quality
That
Evolves to
Holiness

The anger
That
Chooses Peace
For All