Syed Hossain Rezvi

“Blind Heart’s.

In the circle of life, a sorrowful tale,
Where death and life dance an endless wail.
Hungry eyes search for morsels to devour,
Survival's cruel game with each passing hour.

Angst and fear grip hearts, cold and bleak,
Aching souls yearning for solace they seek.
In a world that lacks fairness, unjust and unkind,
Tears fall like rain, leaving scars behind.

Hatred and love, a twisted embrace,
In this nature of existence, a bitter chase.
For when darkness looms,
Love hides in despair,
Yet hate finds its mark,
leaving hearts threadbare.

We,
people who turn blind eyes to the cries,
As if suffering and anguish were mere lies.
Ignoring the plight that surrounds us all,
Humanity's downfall, a deafening fall.

But what of the animals, creatures so dear?
Caught in this cycle, their voices unclear.
Silently they suffer, their pain left unheard,
In nature's cruel script, an unspoken word.

Children on ground, black and white
Dying, Drying while survival trying.
Scars defining not body, but soul
Oh light, forgive us Lord.

The circle spins on, in sorrow it turns,
A tragic symphony,
where hope rarely burns.
In this poem of life,
where sadness takes hold,
Let us open our eyes,
let compassion unfold.”
― Astivan Mirza

“~We were here~

We were here years ago
Dusk swept away the white day
departing monotonous sun to sleep
“You came out of abyss or on High?”
The scent of her willingness breasts
I breathe !
Eyes closed !
Naked bodies sailed in colour,
sound and smell
her swan-like arms coiled
The shadowy light of lamp
the flamboyant bits of dying coal sighed in air
Blood depurated the tawny flesh of bodies
Beside on a table
words scattered like flock of birds
grief, dejection and melancholy
b r o k e n bones of free verse
In contrivance of our sweetest submission
words rupture; secret message deciphered
unrhymed metamorphosed to rhymes
they read our skins like first love poem
besotted in warm delighted air
flying high as kite
You were coaxed to sing in flow; I danced wobbly
Wary sky above the roof ceased
in our devout brittle embrace.”
― Satbir Singh Noor

“Maybe I will keep wanting more,
perhaps I cannot stop this
restless aching snore...”
― C. Madan, The Poetic Refuge: An Anthology

“The Inevitable Tide by Stewart Stafford

The inevitable tide comes,
To claim every one of us,
Whether sufficient breath of life,
Is inhaled deep or forsaken.

Then let them bend and screech,
Their hearsay and homilies,
To rake the ashes of earthly remains,
In our final resting place.

The person no longer lingers,
Gone to Paradise or Hell,
Purgatory or mere rotting decay,
A ghostly rose bled white on binding soil.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford