Showkat Ahmad Wani

I ask the every puff, and dancing leaf
And flower each, and glossily drop of dew
And hustling nightingale that takes relief
At song of joy is singing high with crew
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A piece of iron that be with damp and air
And rests in friendly showy play of peace,
The serenity falls in treason, waits for trust.
But goes abyss in vain when slowly melts
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Some darken locks that cloud the sun of sun,
And make the forest deep for flying birds,
Are caught in never ending net till rest;
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Now after million years I free the thread
Of rust on writing-file to heave the taste
Of inner cosmic ocean-pearls of pen;
A worm hath slumbered after having gruel
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In spring, the earthly fairies gild by breeze
And gaily keep the words for future bright,
And childhood merry dreams hath weaving age
To spend the zenith bloomy__ full of joy.
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My heart! __ be brave, be brave my heart to lift
This dust for sturdy rock, and wandering beam
To radiant star to ash this fearful bird.
Let leave thy chilly sigh for scorching cheer,
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How long a hollow tree shall stand a strong
And hasty wind when opts to root it out?
A hitch! __ if worms beneath incise the veins,
And birds above consume the autumn fruit,
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My poet, be being to carve the face of joy
Among the gloomy cliffs of inner darks,
Let drink the fire of feel from flow of life,
And take the pain as pain to write with pain;
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My eyes were sea of dreams when flowers bloom
In soil of fertile heart in restive time,
Hath weaved wants with cords of inner bright
And placed pearly stars in crown of sky,
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When early waft does tap the drowsy earth
And drips the spirit of life among the dead,
To wear the blue when heaven drops the white
Among the lights when wings enjoy the trips,
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To this great nation, to its noble folk,
To all of humankind, I speak these words.
They gave no chance for us to plead our cause,
But cast their judgment, cruel and unexplained,
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How long shall I detest the race of man?
I know not where the heights of heaven lie,
Yet through the halls of Pharaoh still I roam.
The might of my own gaze consumes my soul.
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Is it e'er possible a man of faith
Would bow his head beneath the chains of thrall?
A thousand souls may dwell in heaven's light,
Yet leave thy lofty tower desolate.
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The sword of wrong is all that fate ordains,
A blade of woe forged deep in fortune's fire.
The grief it speaks, it tears the breast apart,
And carves the land with letters writ in pain.
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The Vernal Breeze
A voice descends from heaven, calling forth,
It speaks of all the virtues in thy soul.
Thou taught'st the rose the love that never fades,
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Upon the first of days when Eden fell,
The tale of love in sorrow's whisper sighed.
The darkened tress, the eyes were arrows keen,
A wall of stone arose to bar the way.
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Behold! It speaks the solemn truth of life,
And grants the chance to know thy mind and feats
And speaks thy secret plot ‘gainst virtue's light,
It lures thy cunning bird beneath a snare,
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O son! do not stride forth nor cast away
The words of plague upon the wildest road,
Thy cry is weak in pitch to shake his mind,
His shout will find thee when thou cry at bend,
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I never set my heart in ink for you
As screams of innocence in fate are cast,
And found reproach of storm for cries of pain
For warming love, a chilly loathing sting,
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What ails thee, poet? My dear, when dost thou gaze
The garden lies, its flowers pale and sick,
Thy dearest rose now withers, bruised and torn
Before descending to the grave, now see
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