Biography of Yasmeen Khan
I live in a strange world. The music of my life has its own rhythm. I write from imagination and inspiration. The canvas has no limits and colors can be picked from a personal experience, childhood memories, a person, a movie, a novel, a symphony, a painting, a picture or any poem written by a favourite poet. The problem is that how goes the brushstroke to paint the intensity of imagination. Sometimes it's impasto and sometimes wet-a-wet. But for this I rely on all members on PH who generously comment on my poems. I feel I have a born love for art and humanity.
- The Hills are Alive!
- The Bare Tree
- The Story of a Bud
- ...A Tear Rolls Down My Cheek
- Winter Gloom
- She Treads on Autumn Leaves
- Virtual Friends
- Looking Into Your Eyes
- The Nameless Song
- The Rain at Night
- When I Posted my First Lines...
- The Dance of Opposites
Winter comes, steam from coffee and soup
Soothes the mind, comfort the heart;
Aroma of roasted pistachio and peanuts,
Heating, blankets, duck-feathers,
Warmth of the ones who are closed
All make a crisp winter to yearn for.
Chilly tents, cruel winds, biting cold,
Shivering bodies with bruised hands,
Food with no steam, silent cries coming