“usoolon ki baat hai “(its a matter of principles) by “a guest poet aruna sharma

POSTED BY POETRY PASSION

usoolon ki baat hai

Usoolon ki baat he,

Kaise nakaar doon.

Ye mere jabaaton se vabsta;

Kyonker inkaar karoon.

Baat baat pe bematalab fasaad;

Kaise haan kar doon.

Fijool ke bahas aur sath tere chand tamaashbeen;

Kaho to aur laa doon.

Mere muhobbat ki mahkti bagiya aur;

Door desh se aate parinden,dikha doon.

Muhobbat ki duniya me ye sab;

Hargiz nahi hota,gar mein thaan loon.

Ziddi ko uski aukaat me la;

Insaaaniyat ka sabak sikha doon.

Dil ko cheer ke ek qatra khoon se;

Bahta pyaar ka dariya banaa doon.

Tum sab ek jaan ho us Rab ki;

Is qaynaat ka asal roop dikha doon.

Ya Rab!!de itni qoovat mujhe;

Har soon pyaar ka paigaam failaa doon.

Yehi mera usool he zindgi ka;

Inke saaye me teri qoovat bhi mila doon.

Bus yahi iltiza he-tere sabhi qaynaat me;

Pyaar ke phoolon ki khusboo failaa doon.
AMEN

Written by aruna sharma

1.8.2017.

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I hid My Love by “john clare”

POSTED BY POETRY PASSION

I hid My Love

I hid my love when young till I
Couldn’t bear the buzzing of a fly;
I hid my love to my despite
Till I could not bear to look at light;
I dare not gaze upon her face
But left her memory in each place;
Where’er I saw a wild flower lie
I kissed and bade my love goodbye.

I met her in the greenest dells,
Where dewdrops pearl the wood bluebells;
The lost breeze kissed her bright blue eye,
The bee kissed and went singing by,
A sunbeam found a passage there,
A gold chain round her neck so fair;
As secret as the wild bee’s song
She lay there all the summer long.

I hid my love in field and town
Till e’en the breeze would knock me down;
The bees seemed singing ballads o’er,
The fly’s bass turned to lion’s roar;
And even the silence found a tongue,
To haunt me all the summer long;
The riddle nature could not prove
Was nothing else but secret love.

BY: JOHN CLARE

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“A WISH” BY MATHEW ARNOLD

POSTED BY POETRY PASSION

A Wish

 

I ask not that my bed of death
From bands of greedy heirs be free;
For these besiege the latest breath
Of fortune’s favoured sons, not me.

I ask not each kind soul to keep
Tearless, when of my death he hears;
Let those who will, if any, weep!
There are worse plagues on earth than tears.

I ask but that my death may find
The freedom to my life denied;
Ask but the folly of mankind,
Then, at last, to quit my side.

Spare me the whispering, crowded room,
The friends who come, and gape, and go;
The ceremonious air of gloom –
All which makes death a hideous show!

Nor bring, to see me cease to live,
Some doctor full of phrase and fame,
To shake his sapient head and give
The ill he cannot cure a name.

Nor fetch, to take the accustomed toll
Of the poor sinner bound for death,
His brother doctor of the soul,
To canvass with official breath

The future and its viewless things –
That undiscovered mystery
Which one who feels death’s winnowing wings
Must need read clearer, sure, than he!

Bring none of these; but let me be,
While all around in silence lies,
Moved to the window near, and see
Once more before my dying eyes

Bathed in the sacred dew of morn
The wide aerial landscape spread –
The world which was ere I was born,
The world which lasts when I am dead.

Which never was the friend of one,
Nor promised love it could not give,
But lit for all its generous sun,
And lived itself, and made us live.

There let me gaze, till I become
In soul with what I gaze on wed!
To feel the universe my home;
To have before my mind -instead

Of the sick-room, the mortal strife,
The turmoil for a little breath –
The pure eternal course of life,
Not human combatings with death.

Thus feeling, gazing, let me grow
Composed, refreshed, ennobled, clear;
Then willing let my spirit go
To work or wait elsewhere or here!

By: Mathew Arnold

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Saraab (miraj) a guest post Ghazal by “ARUNA SHARMA”

POSTED BY POETRY PASSION

https://roseyevening.wordpress.com/

Saraab (miraj)

Tu bhatkata he kahan ,aye musafir!!

Vahaan bhi saraab,yahaan bhi saraab.

Zindgi ko samajh na payaa koi,jaise koi khwaab.

Teri manjil tere kadamon tale ,na chod apna khana-khraab.

 

Ye jo muhobbat he,chipa le dil me banaake zindgi ka shabaab.

Yahaan har banda khud bane firta he khuda,nahi uska koi jawaab.

Tere dil me chipa qatra-e-ishq,vo hi teri zindgi ka mahtaab.

Jara sir ko jhuka,dekh dil ka aaina,vo he teri ibaadat ka aaftaab.

 

Biyabaano me kyon jalaaye pa apne,

nakhlistaan he tera ye saraab.

Teri ek pukaar se saagar me aa jaata he jor ka sailaab.

Tere hi aage aake jhuk jaatehein sab magaroor jajbaat aakhir,aye janaab.

 

Tere pass dil he to sab se jiyada amir tu,baaki hein sab kharaab.

Dil ki daulat wala nahi kisi ka mohtaaj phir kyon fire he betaab.

Dekh jara ,aasmaan waale ne banaaya tujhe he kuch yun lajwaab.

Ki teri her dua me asar,ki teri her aah me he uglati si aag.

Tu aur tera dil bahut khuskismat,jaise faqir ki shakhsiyat bedaag.

Written by aruna sharma

29.08.2017.

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WHY I LOVE YOU SO MUCH BY “DAMAN DEEP KAUR”

POSTED BY POETRY PASSION

http://myhttp480.wordpress.com

WHY I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

Your eyes are like a sea,
the door of my heart’s key…

I don’t know why I love you so much…
that can’t hear anything wrong about you though not being physically in touch..

Staying with you forever is my dream of every day n night,
spending countless romantic evenings with you is the best dream coming true in my sight…

The whole world around seem to be stopped…
first time my love when I kissed you my heart was on the seventh sky’s top…

The warmth of your hug is the best feeling I ever get…
and of course our first hug my love how can I forget…

You came to me with a rose in your hand,little shyness in your eyes and a blushing face…
hugged me tight ,oh my god how beautiful were those days…

your hand in my hand best were those romantic walks……
your pinky finger in my pinky finger and our those long late night talks…

when we both get frustrated after our every fight..
A kiss on forehead just set everything right…

Skype dates are not that bad …
after such beautiful experiences of hugs and kisses we had…

I write you..just by seeing you on my Skype date..
you’re so beautiful in my words then how much beautiful you would be in reality I wonder my soulmate

by: DAMANDEEP KAUR

Something About the Poet:

She is pursuing her graduation in economics honours from
Amity University,Noida.

She write poems in English,hindi and punjabi and most of them based on love,romance and pain.

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#love-poem

“A Dream” by William Blake

POSTED BY POETRY PASSION

A Dream

Once a dream did weave a shade
O’er my Angel-guarded bed,
That an Emmet lost its way
Where on grass methought I lay.

Troubled, ‘wilder’d, and forlorn,
Dark, benighted, travel-worn,
Over many a tangled spray,
All heart-broken I heard her say:

“O, my children! do they cry?
Do they hear their father sigh?
Now they look abroad to see:
Now return and weep for me.”

Pitying, I drop’d a tear;
But I saw a glow-worm near,
Who replied: “What wailing wight
Calls the watchman of the night?

“I am set to light the ground,
While the beetle goes his round:
Follow now the beetle’s hum;
Little wanderer, hie thee home.”

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#emotions

First Love by “john Clare”

POSTED BY “POETRY PASSION”

First Love

I ne’er was struck before that hour
With love so sudden and so sweet.
Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower  
And stole my heart away complete.  
 
My face turned pale, a deadly pale.
My legs refused to walk away,
And when she looked what could I ail
My life and all seemed turned to clay.  
 
And then my blood rushed to my face  
And took my eyesight quite away.
The trees and bushes round the place  
Seemed midnight at noonday. 
 
I could not see a single thing,
Words from my eyes did start.
They spoke as chords do from the string,
And blood burnt round my heart.  
 
Are flowers the winter’s choice
Is love’s bed always snow
She seemed to hear my silent voice  
Not love appeals to know. 
 
I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling place
And can return no more.

– John Clare

About John Clare

John Clare was born to a poor labouring family in Northamptonshire. His education did not extend much beyond basic reading and writing, and he had to start work herding animals at the age of seven. This was not a promising start for a future writer, but in his early teens he discovered The Seasons by James Thomson and began writing poems himself.

His first love, Mary Joyce, was the daughter of a wealthy farmer; their separation caused Clare great pain, and it contributed to the sense of loss which pervades much of his poetry

In 1820 he married Martha Turner and published his first book of poems. He was described as ‘John Clare, a Northampton Peasant’ on the title-page, and the current fashion for ‘rural poetry’ brought him some celebrity in London. He made friends with Charles Lamb and other literary figures, and was granted the sum of £45 a year by wealthy patrons.

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#romance