"pitfalls" poems
Robert Frost once talked of taking the ‘road less travelled’.
Well, I didn’t.
When the time came, I blindly went and took the safest road.
A very long path where the pitfalls were plenty.
I stumbled in the bracken. Stymied by the darkness that fell quickly as I ambled along.
The soul bruised, battered and exhausted at every infrequent stop.
It was not apparent then that in this venture there was a bleak dead end ahead.
I plowed on even though something inside was telling me again and again to turn back.
But, slowly, a gleaming light of hope crossed my vista beckoning me home.
I crawled. My strength regained as the light intensified.
Then the end was in sight - the portal was within grasp.
And so, yes, I now take that road less travelled.
Standing tall and proud as I gleefully stride down its glowing thoroughfare.
Smiling at the diverse and playful changes that cross my pathway.
All told, it’s never too late to trust your instincts and make a difference.
Just ask me.
And Robert Frost.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 5:41 PM UTC
With you
Let me be with you
We can rewrite the stars
With each other side by side
Let me fall with you
We can climb up the mountains
With each other hand in hand
Let me walk with you
We can jump over the pitfalls
With each one step together
Let me dream with you
We can build our own world
With creative imaginations
Let me fly high with you
We can roll over the clouds
With wings of freedom in the sky...
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 10:53 PM UTC
Up early as usually but this time with a mission to complete Halloween Costumes.
Not a pain free day most definitely, but have kids who rely on me to be a good mom.
Everyone has haters; the two faced, "your girls" wanting your guy or envy clothes style,
or randoms you never met, desiring your life, home or new car bought with hard work.
Most days what's posted on sites about me makes not a bit of difference in my world,
I ignore and move on with my life, know haters have nothing better to do than gossip.
No news is good news and nothing from my usual "Town Criers" saying "Guess What?"
One day got messages in text, "You have been labeled Babylon's ***** by Craiglisters!"
Not a "lol" nor "Roflmao" situation. Thinking, What in the world? and How in the world?
Me, Ms. Abstaining and they, who love assuming and posting drama without thought.
Their world; small town America and believers of truth in "all" internet rumors and media,
not willing to give benefit of doubt, once minds, so limited in thought, have been made up.
E-mail inquiries from potential employers I never met from destinations far far away,
asking and informing that person with such low morals shall never be part of their world.
Drama finds me and neither welcome nor do I seek it out, way too emotionally draining,
believer in live and let live, authored "Celibacy" poem to stop jokes made to my kids.
Who knew that trying for your dreams could bring forth bringers or illogical pure hatred?
Who knew that emotions of my children whom I love, would be affected by narrow minds?
After family conference and with full support, by the way, had to explain ***** to son,
this mom carries on and still on second journey pursuing dreams and making realities.
If I give up dreams it will never be because someone posted bold faced lies on open forum,
it will be because I choose to do it with good reasons and those reasons are mine alone.
Pitfalls? Have been numerous. Will? Strong and still determined to see this through to end.
Tomorrow isn't promised and hear my dad say, "Daughter, go forth and let haters be fuel!"
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 4:01 AM UTC
If I could write my life as a poem
For millions who'll read, understand, think
I'd conjure an epic, a mystery
A tale on edge, a tragedy's brink.
I'd weave gripping waves of pleasure
Together with heart-wrenching tides of pain
A sea of battles with no leisure
Of joyful wins going against the grain.
I'd stitch metaphors with gleeful pride
Constructing rhythm with a bit of rhyme
I'd dabble with similes here and there
It'd be my thread on the sands of time.
But when I see my life as it is now
How different it is from my lovely tale
It retains its mystery, some agony
A once-green crop grown dead and stale.
A lost yarn of mistakes and pitfalls
With regret binding the threads as one
Repeated faults with no known structure
A once-free verse that is trapped, undone.
So I'll cast away my dream of a life
In a graveyard as a forgotten goal.
Some dreams never come true, it seems
Just like some lives will never be whole.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 12:42 PM UTC
I’ve kept to the high road in life,
only in my mind.
Thinking myself wise to avoid
the pitfalls others faced.
A warm wind blew up from my past
and there you stood.
A memory of childhood
and view to my future.
Old and new, my path I find in you.
You’ve led me to the back roads,
on trails I’d left ignored,
looking outside the familiar at you.
For a while we walked together,
hand in hand following love’s path
caught up in the voice it called.
Suddenly, I found you had gone, taking another path.
Now I’m left abandoned, alone again
blinded by my fear to move.
For I’ve lost my way on these back roads
without my guide and without my love.
Can you find me hiding here beneath this veil
Can you see the real me?
Did you look inside this woman to find the
frightened insecure girl wanting only to be loved.
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 12:21 PM UTC
Here is were it all begins
Now a life time to unfold
A future lies deep within
And stories will be told.
Your road it will be rocky
You will face those stormy seas
There'll be times you will be happy
And times down on your knees.
You will find that life's a journey
You'll get lost along the way
But your not alone there's many
Who get back on track again.
So put on that suit of armour
It's a dangerous world out there
Beware of all the trappings
Their are pitfalls everywhere.
Don't look back you have a future
And hope is what you need
Your life will be your teacher
And lessons will be learned indeed.
You will find that new horrizon
It is there behind the door
That door will surely widen
And the world it will be yours.
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC
Gates climb
News and paraphernalia
Modern communication
Internet on vacation
Today, rural Australia
Goes awol in valleys, hills
As seeking when hiding
Frustration biding
Trees, various pitfalls
An Insufficient population
Say Cannot build towers
Excuses bely hours
Trying, for connection
Work with what's known
Try cavalier solutions
It's the execution
When, creativity shown
First try computer waving
Above head I'm shaking
Signal not taking
Despite, the swaying
Next option lying on floor
Hint of access, fleeting
Patchy greeting
So slow, won't store
Then stand on top of bed
Try to reach high ceiling
Wobbly feeling
Response, still lead
Despite heat, go outside
The temperature violent
Connection silent
If Home far, just beside
Time past, similarly stung
Found access best rate
The paddock gate
Balancing, top rung
Troop to gate hopes keen
As Searing heat, metal
Stand and settle
Tightly, cradle machine
Process long, time lost
A Connection success
Finally access
But who, counts cost?
Eventually, its loaded mail
As Balancing hold keen
Humorous scene
As Sway, in light pale
Internet access by Gates
Not Bill, Steve, Microsoft
Hung steel aloft
So basic, surely debates
Climbing for a signal now
Is the practical response
Sadly ensconced
As Rural, area know how
But surely it must be time
When access essential
Internet critical
Yet today, gates climb
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 7:45 PM UTC
There’s no if or almost in tennis or with love
No half feeling it.
No hitting half in.
Your mind cant be there one moment
And not be there the next
Love is everything & nothing at all.
You can be too bitter
Not to hit a winner
Love & tennis will play you just the same
With It’s tough game.
You must keep your eye on the ball
Trying not to hit the intentional pitfalls
If not played right on the line
Will knock you out every time
When you stretch to make that shot just right
Of continuing to believe its worth the fight
Logic & emotion intertwined
Remember love & tennis are just games of the mind
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
In retrospect,
dredging up past events
that led to the here and now.
Pending course of actions in which to exact...
Reaching as far back as the mind would allow.
In retrospect,
studying the reflection
in the rear view mirror,
as the present freezes itself intact.
Sifting through past images...
Second by second,
frame by frame.
Identifying overlooked pitfalls
and margin of errors.
In retrospect,
straddling the realm...
Where my current state of mind
lapses into a minute-long sleep.
Sights on the future... Folded blind,
discerning the treachery
of impulsive thoughts and actions.
Diving up from oceans deep,
painting the backdrop beyond paths at
unmarked junctions.
In retrospect,
every detail deconstructed...
Deliberated against the yardstick
of what's done and the supposed.
Refracted memories snap back clean into place.
Over and over...
Layer upon layer...
Time and again forming
the looming weight
that pulls me to a stumble
into the stagnant puddle...
Of long gone days.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
When he was a youth of fifteen or twenty,
He chased a wild horse, he caught him and rode him,
He shot the white-browed mountain tiger,
He defied the yellow-bristled Horseman of Ye.
Fighting single- handed for a thousand miles,
With his naked dagger he could hold a multitude.
...Granted that the troops of China were as swift as heaven's thunder
And that Tartar soldiers perished in pitfalls fanged with iron,
General Wei Qing's victory was only a thing of chance.
And General Li Guang's thwarted effort was his fate, not his fault.
Since this man's retirement he is looking old and worn:
Experience of the world has hastened his white hairs.
Though once his quick dart never missed the right eye of a bird,
Now knotted veins and tendons make his left arm like an osier.
He is sometimes at the road-side selling melons from his garden,
He is sometimes planting willows round his hermitage.
His lonely lane is shut away by a dense grove,
His vacant window looks upon the far cold mountains
But, if he prayed, the waters would come gushing for his men
And never would he wanton his cause away with wine.
...War-clouds are spreading, under the Helan Range;
Back and forth, day and night, go feathered messages;
In the three River Provinces, the governors call young men --
And five imperial edicts have summoned the old general.
So he dusts his iron coat and shines it like snow-
Waves his dagger from its jade hilt in a dance of starry steel.
He is ready with his strong northern bow to smite the Tartar chieftain --
That never a foreign war-dress may affront the Emperor.
...There once was an aged Prefect, forgotten and far away,
Who still could manage triumph with a single stroke.
2.3k
A perturbed philosoper perches precariously atop a pedestal, preaching in poetic prose of the pernicious pitfalls of man's avowal to avarice; as a braindead banker bellows "BUY BONDS!" and boasts boisterously of his brand new Bugatti.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
Who am I?
Who am I?
A rebel? A hero?
A monster with blood and bones?
Not one of these things.
A little lion girl, maimed and alone.
A coward, needy and ashamed,
A girl trapped in darkness, begging for a light,
But all she could manage were stumbles through the night.
In the midst of it all, the struggle and fall, I felt my legs give out,
Weak and worn out, I lay in the pit.
For what shall I fight for? This hell? This ****
Many gathered around and yelled 'you can't quit',
They rattled but could not touch, could not help, for they too are sick.
I heard a gentler voice in the crowd, and I wanted to answer,
But dropped my head in the mud,
With every effort, the pain just grows tenser.
In my heart, I asked "Who are You?", "Where have You been?" I spat.
Still, You called my name, and cleared the brush and pitfalls so I could get up and walk back,
But I was trapped in a pit, I was ashamed, without a thought, I sent You away,
Still, You came closer and knelt down to my level so that we were face to face,
"What are You doing?" I bitterly noted, when I saw that You reached for me,
I then swatted your hand and said, "No one tends to these scars, it's too much of a demand".
But you replied; "Not for me, I heal every wound with My love and My own right hand."
So I just sighed and gave into His embrace, what did I have to lose?
With Your hands on my back You picked me up,
You took my feet and set them on a rock,
You breathed into my heart and for the first time, I felt life,
You touched my eyes with your finger, and I saw heaven on earth,
You whispered to my mind, "You can trust Me, Holly. I am the way the truth and the light"
And in that very moment I knew, I was reborn with the Son,
I walked to the mirror and saw a new reflection, a brave face with purpose,
A lioness who may inherent all of His kingdom under the sun,
And so, this is the end of a testimony, I run down a new road now,
With my hand in God's hand and a smile on my face remembering His first embrace,
Wherever I travel, even in the valley of the shadow of death, I keep a hand stretched out and a heart of trust,
Because My Lord never fails, and already He has conquered all things for us.
And now You're here,
My heart is at rest,
You crushed my fears.
My life is blessed.
I found the savior,
Praise Jesus Christ.
I will serve you, great God,
For the rest of my days.
For what life can become,
Living for Amazing Grace!
Till kingdom come,
Till kingdom come,
Glory in the highest,
I lift up all praise,
I will love You forever,
My Lord and His Son.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
Depression did drain my existence,
Brawling against sadness for years.
Becoming a hostage to mental illness,
Waging a war to be free of misery.
Battling anguish on a rough trail,
The quest to happiness is vicious.
Determined on my journey for hope,
Seeking a path that will end agony.
Barriers block my lanes to blissfulness,
Resisting each hurdle with purpose.
Combating in the most important cause,
Dedicated to win conflicts verses despair.
The pursuit to fortune has finally arrived,
Satisfied by all pitfalls that were defeated.
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 2:26 PM UTC
What if there was no light,
No inclination to fight,
Mountains, all feasible to climb;
To be in anyplace, and anytime.
What if love was a verb,
No pitfalls, no feelings to curb,
True loves lost in abyss,
No one to meet nor miss.
What if death was avoidable,
and people weren't exploitable,
Earth as Eden;
No sin, no wrong, even.
What if sadness was eliminated,
No choice debated,
Just action, speaking before thinking,
Leaving all people sinking.
For death is still a shadow,
The bite-mark is in the apple.
Love is fate,
ships of sadness and pain:
Humanity as the first mate.
Always surrounded with quandary and question...
But one thing yet to mention:
Eliminate all questions of "what if" in mind,
Then there shall be answers to find.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
How am I
To live a meaningful life
In a world full of misery
Inhumanity and strife
To dodge all the pitfalls
That lead us all to sin
Knowing good and well
It’s a battle we’ll never win
How am I
To be able to cope
In a society full racism
And a world who’s lost hope
To be reassured of a future
Where mankind still has a place
On this planet we have treated
With devastation and disgrace
How am I
To teach my children to cope
To surpass my expectations
Is there even still hope?
Will they be left with a planet
***** and poisoned beyond repair
A wasteland of religious hatred
Do we even really care?
How are “WE”
As a species expect to survive
If we all continue with the mind set
That only “MY” race and religion
Deserve to be alive.
Dec 23, 2017
Dec 23, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC
Quick! Call the poetic constabulary
I'm mincing words about my vocabulary
Help! I'm drowning in my thesaurus
evidence that i'm merely a brontosaurus
Listen up to my Greek chorus:
"Such silly word play should place her in poem prison
a ponderous place from which few have risen
Locked in the cell, losing her sense
consequence of writing with no poetic license"
Writing on with no reason or rhyme
just doing my poetic time
iambic meters bite me in the ****
trying to force me out of my sonnetic rut
stumbling on ideas most trite
all the pitfalls of making the choice to write
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 2:39 PM UTC
I wash your sins
within me
I heal
and nurture
them
not for you,
and one moment
on your long list.
I cleanse
your transgressions for me
and for her,
and our daughters
and their daughters.
In the
undercurrent of my
being,
I bathe my wound
and swim
and search
for a way
forward,
because what is
existence
if not time
pulling
us along?
-
I think
I was born into
this life
a healer.
To feel this shared
pain
and see its shadows
as if light, reflecting
and dancing
against a wall,
creating
constellations
of
heartache.
I see now
my purpose,
to connect with the
heavens unknown
from this
earth
so this wicked
energy may
leave
this
world.
And us.
To nourish each other,
so that we can choose
to transcend
pain
a human existence,
where love
and its triumphs,
and
deepest
darkest
of
pitfalls
coalesce
into this flesh
to
cross both space and time
to make
generations.
This flesh,
that I now wear
proudly,
albeit
timidly
at times.
This paradox,
I want
for her too.
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 1:45 PM UTC
Spiders sprinkling down a crooked spine
Can you hear the whine of a brain stem dying
One hundred and eighty days of pain
have metamorphosed this corpse into something deranged
mangled and tangled in webs of perception
razor-sharp enough to cut straight through the gut's deception
and when the vile heart succeeds in silencing the eyeballs
emptying the sockets of life-long pitfalls
maybe the spine-spiders will finally commence to release
the good soul that remains trapped inside this tree.
Grow tree, grow, for you are all I have ever known,
If it weren't for your protective shade, who knows where I'd have been blown.
You may be covered in cobwebs and leaves long decayed,
but I'll keep my promise to save you someday.
You may not grow to be the big oak of which you dream,
perhaps you will end up as kindling in the fiery gleam
of a thousand spiders cremating in my hearth
as I look on, a corpse consumed by an angry spark.
Lovingly your ashes will be placed
beside the oldest river, the one you once graced.
There will be no more spidery-spinal veins
to screech and rattle and bring about the worst pain.
Changelessness is not a virtue, a concept you most despised,
in the spidery spinal tree's search for life of a better kind.
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 8:14 AM UTC
War; absolute
This will be my macadam into re-assemblage
For if I'm not on edge, I'm taking up too much precious space
What wickedness lies beneath the surface of the skin?
I should know this place better than anyone
But my landscape has become mercurial
Ever changing, impossible to map
I am forced to navigate its pitfalls in ever complicating ways
It has become a desolate place
I alone should rule here, my sovereignty unquestioned
Yet I've become content to be complacent, and have allowed a sickly intruder to slip past my walls
They infect, demoralize: turn my skin to stone
They must be expunged; cut out, snipped from the healthy flesh like a cancer
As one removes a gangrenous foot to save the leg
Though my tools at the moment are blunt, I sharpen them daily with the whetstone afforded to me
They will not continue to expel bile into the bloodstream for long
My strength returns by the hour
They know this, and they tremble
I am the goddess to whom this altar is devoted
I am righteous fury, come to cleanse this blight with holy fire and flood
The war drums sound as the gate is lifted
The iron bell tolls -- judgement day cometh
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 8:25 PM UTC
and i trek'd through the pre-dawn cold
skating along the rail tracks,
to boulder jumping a ravine
(where were Japhy's ducks to guide?)
and into a deaden'd grass field.
tapping tip of foot to avoid watery pitfalls
while flanked by rusted railyard
and meth-addled recreational plot;
cat piss'd chemical smell wafts from as
December's north wind fights a toothless perverting force.
the macadame is barren as rainfell desert
and the animals propel by combustion
in effort to scavenge Capitalism's ****
predawn
'fore the burliest awaken with hunger.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 3:23 PM UTC
When I look in the mirror my heart
stops, I can hear my soul weeping.
I am confused, that is not the image I
expected, certainly not what my brain
anticipated. So many miles I put
between us,
I called, but my subconscious would
change the frequency of the calls with
each passing year. Over a decade and
a half I prevented myself from letting
sand gently tickle my feet, waves relax
my soul, and sea breeze whispers in
my ears. Not able to reflect and re-live
times filled with music, dancing,
learning to love, and learning to enjoy
a colorful culture that despite pitfalls,
obstacles, and oppression, manages to
rise above all and shine, to light up
our path to greatness and show the
sacrifices our ancestors made
so we don’t forget where we come
from and where we have to go.
I look in the mirror once more,
nothing has changed, same image,
now it is staring… I blinked, it is gone.
my dream quickly becomes a
nightmare, the image jumps out of the
mirror and gives chase, I’m not fast
enough.
I am him—He is me, I am cursed!
I am flying, no destination, no horizon,
visibility is very low, I grow tired.
another dream turning nightmare.
same mirror, same image, I ‘m not
running, not scared, never really was.
I turned around to see the image
turning into a beast.
I am no longer him—He is no longer
me. He tries to reach me, tries to talk
to me, he seems to be paralyzed,
frustrated, mute, impotent. I feel sorry
for the beast as he is now powerless,
sad, and alone.
I am flying, I see the horizon, I have a
destination.
I am tired no more… I have a purpose.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 7:05 AM UTC
whence the word special is said, be wary of the speaker
whence the word special is said, be wary of the speaker
pitfalls are in the making, one can trip up
pitfalls are in the making, one can trip up
pitfalls are in the making, whence the word special is said
be wary of the speaker, one can trip up
the memory stores info well, an utterance hollow ne'er forgot
the memory stores info well, an utterance hollow ne'er forgot
wising up seeing the light, one is misguided
wising up seeing the light, one is misguided
one is misguided, the memory stores info well
wising up seeing the light, an utterance hollow ne'er forgot
a revelation did dawn, that guy wasn't legit
a revelation did dawn, that guy wasn't legit
his line but a fallacy, clearness of sight now prevails
his line but a fallacy, clearness of sight now prevails
clearness of sight now prevails, that guy wasn't legit
a revelation did dawn, his line but a fallacy
a revelation did dawn, one is misguided
pitfalls are in the making, whence the word special is said
that guy wasn't legit, an utterance hollow ne'er forgot
his line but a fallacy, wising up seeing the light
one can trip up,the memory stores info well
be wary of the speaker, clearness of sight now prevails
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC
Then there are those times you write
Because otherwise the words will tear you up inside
Like supercharged particles
Of steam under pressure
Or uranium reaching critical mass
So you set to the task
Grab pen and paper
Or iPhone and browser
And start uploading your sins onto clean white sheets
Of loose leaf or LCD
As if possessed by some other self
Or non-self
Itself a fountain of diction
A percolation of syntax
Bubbling up and out so as not to **** the messenger
And lines flow
Kia ora koutou katoa
Nga hoa
Me toku whanau
My friends
And family
Be well
See well through this life
And her pitfalls
Tall walls and
Crash courses in experience
Standard variance and deviation from the mean
She can be mean
She can be cruel and unkind sometimes
But you’ll find rhymes to make lines line up like signs on the highway
And find even in grief there is beauty
Truth in pain
Life in suffering
There is no judgement inherent in these things and none at all other than that which we place upon them
Negative or positive are uniquely human conditions
Everything else just is
It sits within itself
Without apprehension of the fourth dimension
Not beating up younger selves for poor decisions made by poorly equipped versions
Nor fearing an abstract time hence
From whence march our fears about death
And a life well spent
And incontinence
And I think my phone bill is going to be massive
And I think my 2 minutes is up
And I think my 15 minutes is up
Where was I again?
Words have surfaced
Simmered and settled down
Beauty in the badness
Truth in the madness
Tiredness overtakes
Like post coitus
An **** of the monastic order
Intellectual intercourses subsequent exhaustion
And sleep calls ceaselessly
As if nothing else mattress
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 7:36 PM UTC
Lost in the sea
Just a cup of tea
A desert of carpet
It was so hard not to look up your skirt
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 4:55 PM UTC
My Apologies, Sona
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My apologies, Sona,
if traversing my verse's terrain
in these torrential rains
inconvenienced you.
The monsoons are unseasonal here.
My poems' pitfalls are sometimes sodden.
Water often overflows these ditches.
If you stumble and fall here, you run the risk
of spraining an ankle.
My apologies, however,
if you were inconvenienced
because my dismal verse lacks light,
or because my threshold's stones
interfered as you passed.
I have often cracked toenails against them!
As for the streetlamp at the intersection,
it remains unlit ... endlessly indecisive.
If you were inconvenienced,
you have my heartfelt apologies!
Come!
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Come, let us construct night
over the monumental edifice of silence.
Come, let us clothe ourselves in the winding sheets of darkness,
where we'll ignite our bodies' incandescent wax.
As the midnight dew dances its delicate ballet,
let us not disclose the slightest whispers of our breath!
Lost in night's mists,
let us lie immersed in love's fragrance,
absorbing the musky aromas of our bodies!
Let us rise like rustling spirits ...
Old Habits Die Hard
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The habit of breathing
is an odd tradition.
Why struggle so to keep on living?
The body shudders,
the eyes veil,
yet the feet somehow keep moving.
Why this journey, this restless, relentless flowing?
For how many weeks, months, years, centuries
shall we struggle to keep on living, keep on living?
Habits are such strange things, such hard things to break!
Inconclusive
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A body lies on a white bed—
dead, abandoned,
a forsaken corpse they forgot to bury.
They concluded its death was not their concern.
I hope they return and recognize me,
then bury me so I can breathe.
Keywords/Tags: Gulzar, Urdu, Hindi, Punjabi, Triveni, translation, life, death, love, ghazal, couplet, mrburdu
May 1, 2020
May 1, 2020 at 6:18 AM UTC