Author: poetryfest

She is my beloved,
Whom I love indeed.
The sacred ideals have been buried,
That I wish men dig hurried.

she has drowned her texts,
in evil-free oceans.
The scholar bathes in stream of texts,
That flow through education.

He kisses the aesthetic ideals,
That came from the great mind.
She knows no death,
And no wars could steal her wrath.

The art sows saplings of humanity,
That bloom in heart of men without vanity.
And I smile with similes and play with personification,
I dine with diction and cry with characterization.

I melt with motif,
And I nurture my soul with narrative.
I have sucked the pill of madness ,
On literature in kindness.

And it is the bad subject of my relations,
Upon whose tongue it lays waste.
For it, I apologize you my dear,
Now let those sicked ears hear.
The lines of your art are the well-cooked biriyani,
That melt deep in the whispering stomach.
Your body has flowered the bunch of righteous,
That mentor the humanity in priceless.

Your pride has unscalable path,
As the great wall of China hath.
Some taste the fruit of it,
Some waste it on innocence as unfit.

The elixir of ideas it gives men,
That travel on minds amid demon.
Drug dealers are the deepest thoughts of it,
That faint me and feed me merit.

The art that has killed social evils,
Race, class and other unequals.
The sailors on it,
Has looked the wind of humanity.

If not, they are pseudo sailors,
On whom she never unveils her.
Some false followers among the greats lay,
Who make her preaching disobey.

And shall the crown of good sit on her head,
And shall rule the mind of good and bad.
Dear God, bless me to clutch her hand,
That shall give society the cherished changes with writing wand.
-M.S. Muhammad Nowfal