Coping with difficulties happily
Is itself the best treatment...

Out of commotion,
Let's walk on still water
Like swans, Rejoicing tranquility

Like the song of a saffron songster
Like the daffodil in its aroma
Like the moon in its face
Is my love for thee!

Like the wavering flow in the stream
Like the lily dream in slumber
Like the meteor in lazuline
Is my love for thee!

If the change
Forces you to follow it,

Do,
But if not for changing your values.

There is a little star within me,
It sparkles if the days are dark;
And roosting in the heart tree,
In the noon, it sings like a lark.

O God keep it glowing until the skin
Goes thin and the wrinkles weave
Their mesh and the soul goes up dreamin'
To meet thee on that Judgement Eve.

After all go mute
Only the moon whispers in
Language of feel

Haiku......

My skin is brown
And days as usual

Rainy
Hot
Cold

Still, like a blue bird,
I am ever happy

For my heart is young

The best and effective magic
      of the world is


       "Love"

If someone needs
the complete definition of a writer

It's : A messenger of love

Many people
would come to your door

With various products

Tell them Bravely and frankly

You prefer only love

If flowers had ego,
They would never have lived

                    In the company of thorns

More intoxicating than the wine
Brighter than the shine
              Deeper than the brook
     Is the book

It's January's fog mirroring all but a murky city;
The sparkling splendour of the day is at rest,
And a dove, lonesome, writhes in the hot gelidity.

The leaves are papers in a file on the glass;
Its plummage shake them, but they remould;
For an asylum it steals under the bench alas!

Who knows it's the poorest in the glacial garden,
And survival is a fierce combat for such haggard
Birds, and solitude, too, stacks sadness, and broken

Morale melts, and a wish for an early death is said;
Oh, I can't serve it with blanket-help, it would skim away,
And sympathy is cipher until fear of harm is dead.

It's the illusion of the fool
That he's the captain of twisting the truth

Fog entangled in
Branches, and birds, shell-shocked,
Fly to hide somewhere.

The discovery of the truth
Is the discovery of the meaning of life

Now it doesn't go on: the fond branches cradle me;
Oh, my wings flit and flap on the au nauteral tree.

It doesn't go on: at meals the guest is served,
And hospitality decants and disdain is much loved.

It doesn't go on: at play the cub shovels snow
While the sow shoots smiles through her ruby bow.

It doesn't go on: in the emergencia habitacion
The patient is cared of and his hurt is bandaged on.

It doesn't go on: the student studies the Fable
With her teacher who recites it from the table.

It doesn't go on: the granny tells fab bercueses
And her grandson catches some kip and stretches.

Now it would go on: the ship sails smoothly whence
It'd strayed and sunk in the all but deep negligence.

Poetry
Is electricity
To charge sleeping mode minds

There's a garden in the wife.
Unfortunately, the husband
Has no time to sit in it.

Kindness,
In the dark rooms,
                   Lits the candle of love
                   And all feel its flame

Old age
            Is the freedom
                              To talk to nature

The way

That hummingbird
Flew to and fro
In the white out situation

Was outstanding

And reminded me of my early days
Which had flown in the river

At the bonfire,
It's white out situation,
You, in ponch,
Rest your head
On my thie
And I stoop to imbibe
The intensity of your love

Painting is complete
On the green easel

Knowledge,
In its all flavours,
Must be spooned out and eaten,
While in winter
it's dry fruits to be taken,
And drench yourself with it in spring

Honesty, if not used, will leave the place
The devil will come and hinder your race

No matter
How much
We grow old
Or go along
With someone

We have to move forward
Where our end awaits us

Hugging a girl in snow
Is a dripping-delight moment for you
I agree as you do
But when you hug your mother
After feeling sorry
For hurting her
Is an unmeasured-joys moment
For her
And you can't deprive her
Of such moments
I am sure as you are sure

After listening
To poetry by great iqbal,
He came dripping wet

Monster spread its wings;
The sun shot its sharp arrows;
Joys came out in the fields

With one hollow leg,
He walks from his house to stall;
Each moment-tragedy

Yellow dresses of
Poppies remind me of kids
Standing in assembly

Eating golgappa,
A ragged girl held her hand;
Two life, different luck

Mistakes are unskilled techniques
To find out the best

Your smile
            Is a thrilling story to everyone
And you keep moving to find this tale..

New Year
Isn't
        the discovery of a new land
Lavish with peace and happiness

It's just a next moment
A step on the same road

New year
Isn't the source of happiness

                    It's just the next moment

Letting others play their pianos
Is letting oneself enjoy the peace

I count faults of others
             My wisdom decreeses
I count their good deeds
            My wisdom increases

New Year is to make up for our mistakes

Old stories are blankets
                On which we all roll
And cover ourselves with

In the process
            Our dreams die

Poetry is a ghost-musical instrument
It produces melodies out of nowhere

Your sin will remain sin

      It's your regret that counts

I'm child, young or old
Doesn't matter much to me

It's my age
is enough for me to enjoy it.

What should I indite
          For their valorousness?
Words can't cite
        How they fight in duskiness.

Death growls and roars;
           Out of barracks they flow
And forget their shores
           And the beautiful bride's glow.

The children's voice is heard
           When the bullets pierce them;
Like mountaineers in a herd
          They march on, untiring, lame.

They don't stop until it's fate
         Some flowers on their caskets
And profound salute they get
       And their empty names in prints

Superstition
              Is an unnamed, but comman disease that is less cared of

If my sufferings
            stop me from being happy

                  Those of others
Can't stop me
When I do something for their relief

Even
The tiniest straw
Could survive in the tempest

If it has courage to endure
What nature throws at it.

The moon shines on those
Who dare to walk out in night
To write their stories