Lonely These Streets…


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Remember the times,
the human mind,
at its peak
when the labour produced,
words of wisdom and literature

and now,
only the conversations,
of those grand days
as they decipher
haphazardly, the outcomes

lonely these streets
in Cordoba, in Baghdad,
Empty these gardens,
in Tashkent and in Lahore
the forgotten landscape
the tragic scorn of distant past

engulfed in these echoes
the old image of butterfly
stuck across the tainted glass
no names, only the words,
laughter caged in its echo
only the drizzle
of depondency and disbelief
as the nation begins to disown
the roar that became its oxygen

empty these hands
with all its lines
of destiny and fortune
Only the image upon tainted glass,
as they decipher
in streets of Coroba and Baghad
in lonley gardens
of Tashkent and Lahore,

As i carry my being,
drapped in my mortality,
across these grand bazaars
of humanity and its canvas
the relentless pursuit
of the time
with promise broken,
with hopes splintered,
as the landscape
seeks its revenge
as heavens above,
outpour its discontent

Remember the old times,
when we were not confined
with boundaries and tribes,
our playground the whole Universe….

KASHKIN

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Cleanliness…….


 

Islam, the universal religion has placed such an importance on the concept of cleanliness and its impact within the composition of the society that we must adhere to its message and implement. Islamic civilisation of the past believed and practised this. The civilisation grew unbounded in all four corners of the earth. So it is important that we understand as a nation the importance of this message and introduce in our policies in urban planning and development, keep our homes and roads clean, public buildings should not layered with posters. . In all matters of our belief, and in our day to day living this concept of cleanliness should be of paramount importance.

 

 

 

 

The Colour Explodes in its Whispers


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The colour explodes
in its whispers
in its harmony,
the nature descends,
as the light catches,
the morning dew
with the man,
from different land,

in its alignment,
the mosaic
of beautiful summers
echoes of the past
in its view,
the rainbow drops
from the old corridors,
where once they travelled
from the old desert
to the mountains
the air
that whistled through the verses,
the place,
wher our heart remains
across the land,
once ours, now gone
the dreamers paradise…

the last remnants still with us
the monuments of wisdom
the tools of expression
there he roams in its valley
cornered and in its shapes,
reflections, and its wonder
of expression and humanity

The colour explodes
in its whispers
in its harmony,
the nature descends,
as the light catches,
the morning dew
with the man,
from different land….

ASIM KHAN