Baskadia

Tere bin season 2 Trending Pakistani drama

The Isolated Porcupine

A poem about little porcupine

By the river side.

By the river side, A peaceful retreat Where a gentle breeze blows And the sun's heat The birds chirping and singing, The trees blowing in the wind, The grass swayed in harmony, The water trickled in a gentle din. The sound of the river soothes my soul, The scent of the grass sweet and bold The sight of the river, so clear and blue, It's beauty like nothing I ever knew. The river side, A place of solace and peace, Where I can go to find A calming release

Poetry

Hard shell, thick skin Slow pace, leave a trail Thick trail, beautiful scenery Companionship of like mind Like wise carry each other through the thick bush Of unchattered, scary, dangerous, beautiful scenery Grow skin and hard shell on the road untraveled, slow leave a trail!

JOURNAL OF A WHORE

It was on a bright weekend early afternoon. As I remained there ringing the doorbell tenderly, somebody pulled my pants. "Mom, mom, convey me." Cried a minuscule sharp voice. I really wanted no heavenly messenger to let me know what its identity was. Obviously, it was the voice of my three years of age little girl. If by some stroke of good luck she knew how chaotic it was lifting her up as she had put on a ton of weight as of late. Perhaps more than her age mates however at that point, a mother's affection wouldn't allow me to overlook the little one, regardless of whether I needed to. "Great sky," I murmured, feigned exacerbation, and scooped her up in my arms.

LOVE IN RELATIONSHIP

it more of spoken words

THE THIRD WORLD POLITICIAN

Here he is, The big man. He flaunts his money, To show the masses His affluent and wealth. And the rumours spread, That the big man, Was not a businessman. "But what could he be". They wondered. Which occupation, Made you as rich as a businessman? It was not carpentry, Nor was it bricklaying, Or blacksmithing, Then suddenly we knew! The big man, Was nothing but a politician. An occupation of the privileged Who never got tired of their occupation, Who did more bad than good, Whose personal intere

OH MORNING!!!

Morning, a kind of fresh start reforming what seized to exist, peace. As for me I'll say my morning my peace.

Memories of the Past

The poem reflects on the joyous moments of the past, where life was simpler and people savored simple pleasures. The power of memory, music, and writing in capturing and expressing these experiences is evident in the poem's language and imagery. It's a testament to the way in which memories shape our perceptions and emotions, and how music and writing can be powerful mediums for conveying them.

Alone

The unfinished memories

ORIGIN

ORIGIN by Symply Raven. Appreciating African culture through poetry. Authenticity is our root

A Drifted Tale

002 Once upon a time, our love was blazing like the sun- warm, comforting, and suitable. Until the world played with spear and gun. We broke apart, we drifted along the brawl. We first met in front of your house's lawn, now, we end it tragically at that same place. Promises gone by, leaving feelings of affliction. All will be in memories, all those hugs and kisses. Time, distance, communication, and presence, we lose it all, and we slowly grew apart. In our promised place I felt your absence, re

Pain with pleasure

There are no clouds, there is no storm Will it rain? Inside of my heart, ratial riots? Oh my heart! Why are you beating for the love with the person who I don't know before? Which the broken relationship of the distant born, Will follow me beyond the birth? Birth is not true, I found it now because of you. What is your root? And, I fell in love with you, But I still don't know what is your name is! Only your thoughts are buried in my neurones, What can I do?

Kahlil Gibran's Words About Life

Hope it is useful. Thank you

When We Fall

In the face of darkness, we stand tall, For hope is a beacon that conquers all, It's the strength to rise when we fall, In the grand symphony of life's call. When storms rage fierce and clouds obscure, Hope's the anchor, steadfast and sure, With each challenge, it grows more pure, A force within, forever to endure. In the depths of despair, it takes flight, Guiding us through the darkest night, With hope in our hearts, we'll ignite, A future where everything's set right. So hold onto hope with a

Guiding Angel

Oh guiding angel, blessed be, The light that shines so bright in thee, With wings unfurled and heart so pure, You lead us to a path so sure. Through darkest nights and raging storms, You keep us safe, so we transform, Our fears and doubts, our pain and grief, Into a strength that brings relief. You whisper softly in our ear, And wipe away each falling tear, You lift us up when we are down, And turn our frowns into a crown. With every step we take in life, You guide us through both joy and strife

হিম ছিম রাত

Writing Poetry:MD Shajalal Hossain

At the end

I wrote this to try and show how i felt when i realized that the facade that i put out was nothing more then a lie. The worst kind of lie because it robbed me of my identity leaving me a stranger within my self. Surrounded my the faces of people that claim to love me but the persistent question that never seemed to be answered is how can they when even i dont know me so how could they.

Pied Piper

007 The children laughed just by the mention of his name. They understand the meaning of liberated that he claims, they understand the happiness that he spoke of. The only one who don't understand him were the adults. He took the children to play in the mountains, to laugh and get dirty while dancing and singing non-stop. He let them remember that they are still a child, a child that's supposed to run and get wild. He freed them from the shackles of society and obedience, letting them rebel to f

FREEDOM FROM EVERYTHING

This poem basically explains the struggle that I face in my life and how I feel being different from others