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139 · May 2019
I FEAR TO LOVE
Adnan shafi May 2019
I fear to love and fake my rising go.
I hate my mate in what I cannot care
I turn by going where I have to flow

We shrink by healing.what is near to sow
I fear my healing chance from one to pair
I fear to love and fake my rising go.

Of that so tied between us, which is true?
Hate guess the right! I shall knock gently there,
And turn by going where I have to flow

Love takes the glee; but who can spell us how?
The lovely Mujnu rhymes up a shining pair
I fear to love and fake my rising go.

Fake culture has another thing to boo

To you and me; so break the timely share,
And, humbly, turn by going where to flow.

This making keeps me ready. I should grow.
What calls hate is always. And is here
I fear to love and fake my rising go.
I turn by going where I have to flow.
Rhyming
ABA, ABAA
IAMBIC PENTAMETER
Adnan shafi May 2019
In a vicious country, and a distant age

A girl was born of biddable and

penniless parentage,

The moon that glittered upon her

blessed birth,

The sky that vouched for her blessed

birth,

On the planet Earth when she was

born,

The flourishing birth of love

bestrewed

nonchalantly all over the room,

Her dazzling and delicate eyes ceased

the days of grudge,

Her arms like the flabby branches of a

tree, softly

Kissing the earth,

Her lips like the petals of a flower,

And her cheeks burnished like

sunflowers in bloom,

But as time passed away there

followed after

The blues of opprobrium,

The sound of a sour high-pitched

shout,

A moment of decrepitude;

of solitude and sadness,

A sigh of pain,

Beyond a lot of pain, her parents were

poor,

Yet they brooked to tender her,

Years passed by, she grew lovelier still;

On her face, the exuberance of

devotedness and harmony was

inveterated,

Her world, the amorousness of her

parents

Father’s adoration and mother’s kiss.

She never believed herself alone,

Her talking in low tones,

Like the birds luscious warbling in the

treetops.

Breezily and promptly sped the quiet

days;

The beautiful girl has flowered into

juvenility,

And still, her glamor was not faded

away,

And still, her notions were the truths

of probity.

Then, like a voice of floods,

An untamed wind washed everything

away,

The pacification, enchantment,

contentment ;

of her parents

As she was *****, spoiled and harmed

by sharp knives

Then a body, crippled, dead, lacerated

and imbrued

Her face vague

Yet over her soul,

Mortals blubbered with fears and

hopes

Much yet remains unsaid –

The coffin was laid,

Her body shouldered and finally

consigned to one of the graves of the

graveyard in Kashmir,

And is still unjustified.

— The End —