LAUREL LEAVES POETRY


Monthly Poetry Magazine



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POET AND POEMS OF THE MONTH

ATTY. RAFAEL E. EVANGELISTA




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poetandpoemsofthemonth

AUGUST 2015

aman

 

MR. AMAN SADIQ

 

My son, when we talk about love

 

My son, when we talk about love
Then we have one slogan, one passion
Every region’s bird is our dove
Let us kiss the flower of every nation.

I know that caste exists and creed.
But we are the fishes of a common sea.
And love and love and love is our need.
Let us love together, you and me.

My son, these boundaries and flags.
Cannot bring our unlawful separation
Let you shun these barren crags
And sing the songs of every nation.

My son, when we talk about peace
Then smile speaks and tears die
I want to see my neighbours at ease
When faces will smile and bullets will cry.

My son, let you fly for a real cause,
For the sake of our traditional love,
Spread my slogan with great applause
To every nation, let you shove.

 
 

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I am a human

Praise me O’ tyranny, I am a human
I am a no room for thy guns,
But a hearth of peace and calmness,
A spring of peaceful suns,

I am a festival of wisdom and charm,
A celebration of everyday,
My heart is a golden mountain,
Though I’m made up of clay.

Listen O’ bullets, I am a human
Listen O’ darkness, I am the light,
Even in the barrenness of time
I will make my peaceful flight

These rifles and bullets and swords,
Failed to suppress my glorious sound.
I will write my name, even in the storms
On every peak and every ground.

Invisible is my soul, invisible is a dream
How a man could kill my soul?
My soul is a running stream
With a peaceful and glorious goal.

 

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My unshakable dreams

And dreams wander in my soul
A dream of free walking masses
In a peaceful moon’s cradle
To see a unified mob of all classes.

A dream of a woman’s secured walk
Alone in the hearts of streets
To see all men as her protectors
And she walks in the joy of beats.

A dream of character and decency
In my children, youth and old
Marching in the columns of freedom
Exploring our hidden treasures of gold

A dream of thousand profound dreams
In thoughtful brains of every soul
Busy in exploring our lost diamonds
Away from tyrannical mines of coal

A dream to follow smiles and roses
A dream to live in justice’s paradise
Where I could breathe and live until
The hello of our morning sunrise.

 
 
 

This poem is about a Hindu orthodox temple, which is Located in Manora Island of Pakistan. This temple was constructed in 1918. In 1947 Pakistan and India got independence from British Empire as two sovereign countries. Hindus migrated to India and Muslims migrated to Pakistan after partition. This temple is the only temple in the sub-continent, which is dedicated to Shri Varun dev (the Hindu god of sea). Since 1947, this temple is vacant and no rituals take place due to law and order situation. In this Poem I give a message of love for our Hindu brothers to please visit this place without any hesitation to create a balance in this world. We promote peace not violence.

 
 

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Shri Varun Dev temple

An ancient body of ancient architecture
Standing all alone in Islamic culture
A gift to Varun, the god of sea
By the Hindu’s mythological tree

Here it stands for years long
The beauty of Veda’s song
Made with the precious stone
Without Hindus, it feels alone

Yellow bricks and conical dome
In sub-continent, the Varun’s home
Emptied by the separate lands
Now live with barren hands

This vacant empty structure
Needs the Holi’s culture
Away from the rules of tyranny
Sing the songs of harmony

And westerly winds deteriorate its arch
So listen to this peaceful skylark
To my poem for all nations
Let us revive our ancient passions

And we favours the rituals of all
Let us save the world from a fall
O’ departed brotherhood! Come back soon
In thy temple, light up thy moon

Let us dream for our springs
Let us unshackle our wings
To make a valuable flight
In the blackness of this cruel night.

 

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They demolished my glorious school

Terror has lost its senses
They demolished my glorious school,
Alas! But ignorant has no information,
That they can never touch my rule.

And I can see the scattered bricks
My demolished classes and lawn
Where we used to speak of wisdom
Where we used to see the dawn

Listen o’ silence, answer my question
How can you demolish my brain?
Is there any bomb in thy collection?
Oh! You are too weak to give us pain.

My school, the school of dreams
And dreams never perish or die
Try to see behind the curtains
My school is waving in the sky.

And I am a singing bird of peace.
I have no tears and no pains.
Though, you are the hunters of schools,
You cannot hunt my flying cranes.

 
 

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And I preferred to be ashes, my son

While I was burning in the fire
My kids were battling for life
Death beside them was my desire
And bravely I accepted the terror’s knife

A school of my jasmines and roses
Waving like the minarets of light
Alas! Smiles and laughter were abound
Before the hello of a darkest night

Angels! An escape was not an option
As I was the mother of smiling flowers
And mother means an utmost sacrifice
In monstrous and dreadful hours.

Listen O’ coward man, listen to me
I know you brought the deadly rain
On this act of shame, I would like to say
That I am a woman, you are not man

Oh! I could have escaped at ease
To live alone in a shameless sky
But I preferred to be ashes, my son
Before the jasmines and roses die

Now happily in the hearth of souls
All those roses reside in my wings
And we all enjoy the stories together
Not the tales of autumns but springs

They tried to kill our souls and spirits
Perhaps the ignorant has no information
That souls and spirits never perish
And we are the souls of our nation….

 

*Dedicated to Madam Tahira Qazi (late Principal of Army Public school Peshawar), who gave up her life for the sake of our peaceful tomorrow. She was burnt alive by the terrorists while she was saving her students. You will remain a source of inspiration for the students and women of the entire world.

 

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