by Faiz Ahmad Faiz یہ گلیوں کے آواراہ بے کار کتے کہ بخشا گیا جن کو ذوقِ گدائی زمانے کی پھِٹکار سرمایہ اُن کا جہاں بھر کی دھتکار اُن کی کمائی نہ آرام شب کو نہ راحت سویرے غلاظت میں گھر، نالیوں میں بسیرے جو بگڑیں تو اِک دوسرے سے لڑا دو ذرا…

I pine to write a poem for you and I try and try, but nothing flows that’s quite right; with ease, you will see right through any words that I can contrive; one of the seven hundred and fifty-one reasons why I love you (though love is just an inept four letter word). Ignore my clumsy words which are easily undone, and spoon me tight from behind till two misfits finally fit in just fine. Unlike words, Oxytocin cannot not lie.

after Robert Frost Cast iron railings separate my yard from yours. On your side, there is a well-trimmed garden where dahlias, chrysanthemums and roses grow in neat geometrical patterns. …

by Robert Frost Something there is that doesn’t love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one stone on…

The trains in India have never run on time, except, I am told, during Emergency. We learned not to blame ourselves for it, because we are not in charge of the railways. Jibon Jethu, who lived down the hill, was convinced that what we really need is twenty years of Emergency. Alas! we…

When I first read the Philip Larkin poem, the prude in me was appalled by it. However, years later, I began peeling the layers, and identifying with it in many ways. This Be The Verse by Philip Larkin They fuck you up, your mum and dad. … They may not mean…

I am still trying to learn … to use gender neutral pronouns, … avoid trigger words, … and refrain from making … references to exercise or diet. I am still trying to learn … to see the world as a conflict … between good and evil … and nothing in…

The 6th Dalaim Lama, Tsangyang Gyatso, was certainly unconventional. He was fond of alcohol, and would visit brothels in Lhasa in secret. He wrote some of the most poignant poems and love songs. He wrote this poem when another monk played detective and found out about his nocturnal trysts, and…

by Kynpham Singh Nongkynrih, for fellow poet Pijush Dhar Beloved Sundori, Yesterday one of my people Killed one of your people And one of your people Killed one of my people. Today they have both sworn To kill on sight. But this is neither you nor I, Shall we meet by the Umkhrah River And empty this madness Into its angry summer floods? I send this message Through a fearful night breeze, Please leave your window open.