April 1, 2016 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION


Abu Thahir



My Native Land



My ancestral house, old city

Where I planted an oak tree

Watered and nurtured well

It took its survival and grew

It gave me fruits


Now it is expired

It is crouching and hugging the land

Then I cut it off

Now it is the logs and pyres of fire

Which became ashes after cremation

Of my grand father

Fragrance of blood, sweat

Before my very eyes

I am misguided

Only dream of a weaver it was

Never I can’t believe

O my land

For thou, I showered tears too

Like of a departing bride

For thou, I sang songs

Of glory and sadness of life

Of sourness and sweet rhythms


It bestowed me nothing

Only horrible memories it gave

Of my birth and death

Of poignant despair and passionate strife









Greatest Lady I’d Ever Seen



My mom,

The bravest lady I’d ever seen

In you, my happy dawns, dusks

And a new lease of life,

Sharpened eyes to foresee

Made me much steadfast

In war fares of life and be vigilant,

The indomitable leader I’d ever seen

Zeal and fervor she took

Made me patriotic,

Became a dazzling lighthouse

In darkened corridors

An adoring friend I’d ever experienced

Affections and caring she felt

Am blissful for that caress

Always seeming light-hearted

With all feelings hidden in her

She the pillars of the house;

Her laughter wiped out all mists

The reverent teacher I’d ever been taught

Enhanced me flying high on wings of fire

To the zenith of the world,

Who taught me to dream more and more

You were the candle melt down yourself

To brighten the world of others









Abu Thahir

I am Abu Thahir, post graduate in English literature, MANUU University, Hyderabad, India.


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