Hello! I am a poet and writer. I write whatever comes in my mind.
They were good people. When they were in the village, they would enlighten their community about the world's ideas and events.
By Fly Alone6 days ago in Poets
In those days, Dr. Muhammad Khan was transferred to Jali Fatiana, a remote village on the Ravi Bank in Punjab. I had sent him my new poetry collection.
That lady Living abroad Had penned down her memories Of her hometown And named them: "The Breeze's Heaven" I was editing her book
I saw you on the way And called out warmly. You paused for a moment, Turned and looked with a cold face, And then continued on.
By Fly Alone11 days ago in Poets
You will stay a night With me It would be enough for me To believe That you belong to me But would you spend
By Fly Alone13 days ago in Poets
Recently, I spent some time in the foothills of the majestic Karoonjhar mountains and Nangar Parker. As a visual artist, I was captivated by their beauty. Each stone is a face etched with history.
By Fly Alone14 days ago in Poets
Time waited and went, I couldn't rise, For I cherished my dreams And wished to fill my life with them. The world moves on, But I preferred to stay behind, Seeing everything from a distance— Is a unique experience, so amazing.
By Fly Alone15 days ago in Poets
Whisper, and a fragile piece of wall plaster falls, tiles crunch beneath feet like autumn leaves, Desolate silence, the sound echoes,
When you are heard but misunderstood, quite opposite to what you meant, you become sad. It's as if you picked up a fallen object, knocked on the door, handed it to its real owner, and he accused you of being a thief!
By Fly Alone17 days ago in Poets
Drowned love is on my shoulders. There's a storm behind me, And I'm running ahead. There's no human habitation in sight,
I don't know if my beauty holds a mesmerizing power. But I know that my eyes are like emeralds and that I am strong from within. Before binding the loose end of my dupatta to someone, consider that even though my body has grown in suffocation, the windows of my soul remain open. My hair is untamed and flows like dark clouds. My lips are silent, but my emotions are stormy enough to sweep everything away. I look weak but am actually strong, like a rose with thorns.
I refuse to surrender to the expectations of others. What kind of devotion demands blind loyalty, anyway? I've been searching for answers, but none come.
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