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Us ki qandeel ke noor tale Lehron pe jhoomte huaye Momin jiye ja rahe hain Halki halki moseeqi me Baton ke pahar banate Thori see piye ja ra hen aur woh un ka rab is soch me hay Ke me ne kis mitte se inhe bana dia Farishton ko in ke samne jhuka dia Ye
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I think this is it…. Jonty has been topped finally… Kemp just pulled off the impossible in an ICL match between the Lahore Badshahs and Hyderabad. Look at Inzi’s face, Alu is aghast!!! To top it all of the batsman was so shocked he would not leave the pitch!!!
I am picking up apples from the garden. Again. I have given bags of the fruit away to everyone who wants them, but still they tumble from the tree. Sometimes they even have the audacity to fall on me as I am gathering their compatriots beneath, the little green bastards. But still it feels like
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to the amniotic fluid of dreams the ritualistic sanction runs dry lover, into this forlorn and hollow existence, the light slowly spilling out through the hundred half-moon creases producing their own afterglow, your words, the sharpened blade of spirit’s knife yell to my heart. –language does not break the sphere that surrounds it– feel the
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I harbor a desire I solicit the soul of yesteryears I bend over the glory of the past I instill inside me a sense of survival I seek to fulfill my luxurious wants I crib under the pressure of success I look straight into the ray of joy I want yet my expression is sparse
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Mana ke me aaj mushkil me ghira hun Dekho Tufan may kis qadar himat se khara hun Ab samna hay mujhe mukhalif hawaon ka Par sath hay mujhe ma ki duaon ka Zalim khud mujh pe zulm ka ilzam lagate hain Koi puche ke woh is mulk ke liye kya chahte hain Main tanha ho
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I’ve washed and drank in God’s tears of joy As the crimson firmament surrounds my reality. Entire, all powerful, outstretching and inviting Seducing me as no other bride In death her silky hair confides, takes new beauty and destroys The salt of her tears is everywhere, I can still hear her As I die peacefully
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She is glad not to walk up the steps to the media box alone, but from her demeanour you could never tell. They met at Manchester Piccadilly, in the bookshop. They spent ages there, but he couldn’t find anything sufficiently highbrow to bother parting with his hard won cash. His intellect scares her a bit,
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Hockey, Our great Canadian game, can come down to one lucky bounce, one slip of the stick or one shot from the point that pin-balls around before barely reaching the back of the net. Our game can be decided by a bad line change, by one broken stick, by one faceoff win. Our game can
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I am no connosieur of Urdu poetry. My understanding and interest is not more than a drop in the ocean. However, it has always been a desire to read good poetry and share it with all my friends and associates. There is another angle to this also that I wish to highlight. Poetry is the
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