"han ye sach hai"

"Bonedog" by Eva H.Dis a poignant poem that delves into the themes of grief, memory, and the passage of time. The poet uses vivid imagery and emotional resonance to depict the narrator's experience of loss, as they grapple with the absence of a beloved companion, the titular "Bonedog." Through metaphors and introspection, the poem explores the ways in which memories are preserved and transformed, highlighting the connection between the physical world and the realm of memory. The poem captures the complex emotions associated with the inevitability of death, while also celebrating the enduring bond between humans and their cherished companions. Ultimately, "Bonedog" invites readers to reflect on the profound impact of loss and the ways in which we remember and honor those who have left us.

April| Mikael De lara co

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. -Dylan Thomas 💐

Every morning when I wake, Dear Lord, a little prayer I make, O please do keep Thy lovely eye On all poor creatures born to die And every evening at sun-down I ask a blessing on the town, For whether we last the night or no I’m sure is always touch-and-go. We are not wholly bad or good Who live our lives under Milk Wood, And Thou, I know, wilt be the first To see our best side, not our worst. O let us see another day! Bless us all this night, I pray, And to the sun we all will bow And say, good-bye – but just for now! -Dylan Thomas 💐

Like most of Charles Bukowski’s other works, Bluebird is a straightforward, hard-hitting, and rather gut-tugging poem. A literary punch to the gut. A hyper-dose of reality, so to speak. In this poem, Bukowski speaks of a bluebird in his heart. A bluebird that he repeatedly smashes down to hide away from prying eyes. He is too tough for the bluebird, he pours whiskey on it, smokes it down with cigarettes, so none of the whores, the bartenders, and especially none of his readers can see it. As a writer who makes his living by selling pain sealed under a hard casing of machismo, there is little room for vulnerability, let alone, a kindle of happiness. ( KRISTEL MARIE PUJANES).........[[ No copyright intended to music except voclas]]

A poem by ~Tehzeeb hafi 💐

A poem written by Tehzeeb Hafi 💐

No smoke without you, my fire.  After you left,  your cigarette glowed on in my ashtray  and sent up a long thread of such quiet grey  I smiled to wonder who would believe its signal  of so much love. One cigarette  in the non-smoker's tray.  As the last spire  trembles up, a sudden draught  blows it winding into my face. Is it smell, is it taste?  You are here again, and I am drunk on your tobacco lips.  Out with the light.  Let the smoke lie back in the dark.  Till I hear the very ash  sigh down among the flowers of brass  I'll breathe, and long past midnight, your last kiss. Edwin Morgan

Teri khushbuu nahin milti, tera lehja nahin milta, Humen to sheher main koi tere jaisa nahin milta, Yeh kesi dhund main hum tum safar aghaaz kar bethe, Tumhe ankhen nahin milti, humen chehra nahin milta, Har ik tadbeer apni raayegaan thehri mohabbat main, Kisi bhi khawb ko tabeer ka rasta nahin milta, Bhala us ke dukhon ki raat ka koi mudaava hai, Woh maan jis ko kabhi khoya hua bacha nahin milta. 💐Noshi Gilani💐

About the poem: ‘No Leaders Please' is a poem by Charles Bukowski, it's from one of his books, 'The Pleasures of the Damned'. This poem is a reminder to remain a free spirit and never letting anyone else decide who you are. The tags that people provide you don't define you and that your independence is yours and yours alone. Although the poem doesn't mention leaders, the title does, and the content suggests a rejection of leadership. About the author: Charles Bukowski, (Henry Charles Bukowski, Jr.) was born August 16, 1920, Andernach, Germany and was brought to United States by his father at the age of two. He grew in America. He is known as a prolific underground writer who used his poetry and prose to depict the vices of urban society and highlight the typicality of America. Bukowski relied on experience, emotion, and imagination in his work, using direct language and violent and sexual imagery which is evident in his poems. He died March 9, 1994 in San Pedro, California, U.S.