A Desire

Poem By Muhammad Shanazar

I wish I were a seasonal bird,
That travels flying around the world,
With sweet companionship of a partner,
Whose heart knows nothing except,
Faithfulness, how to share the pangs.

Then I fly with the delighted light heart,
Caring least the self made boundaries,
Of the countries or continents, across
The foaming wavy seas; to search,
The land, plains or isolated valleys,
Where neither one makes victim the other,
Nor playfully breaks the brittle hearts,
Nor does cast fear holding the fatal guns.

I would then chirp on the far off shores,
And dance along the ballet of the waves,
Away from the polluted and violent world
Of man, of which each nook and corner,
Smokes, smoulders and smells with hateful,
Explosives amid the shattered cottages.

Comments about A Desire

Very expressive and an engaging write. Thanks for sharing.
Where neither one makes victim the other, Nor playfully breaks the brittle hearts, Nor does cast fear holding the fatal guns Verily, nicely envisioned, a lovely poem that should realize.......10
There is a word Mun/Man i dont find proper replacement of this word in english. It is more faster than light. we may flap its wing and reach to our destination.
! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! Words pouring out from the soul, a truncated part of the soul clamouring to unite with the One and the only ONE that knows no boundaries, no color or creed, that has spreadout itself into the stars, the Sun, the Moon, the beauteous mountains, oceans, landscapes, sweet waters of the rivers, colorful blooming flowers and forests and the beautiful fauna. Your poem transported me to the eternity and infinity for a while but then the body drags me back. Hey Shanazar, this one poem alone is sufficient to make you immortal as a poet. Allah has sent you to sing songs of eternity. Don't give up. CP
wow! ! this is really nice........well done


Rating Card

4,8 out of 5
5 total ratings

Other poems of SHANAZAR

A Deformed Angel

Sometimes life gives us severe shock,
Undermines the plans and does block,
The ways of wisdom leading ahead,
Reveals the hands that secretly mock.

The Mobile Roses

Children are the symbols,
Of hope, of innocence, of vitality,
Add colours to life,
With shades light and dark,

The Daughter Of Eve

Who sorts out scraps of sustenance,
Bending upon the hump of smelly trash,
And picks up the sucked eaten bones,
Stuffs them into spacious juty sack,

Why I Write?

When indelible memories of the past,
Torment my heart and mind; I write.

When mist floats in front of the eyes,

The Pigeon

The dreams are not merely dreams,
Though they are often considered the fantasies,
And futile vain imaginings of the mind;
Yet they portend the stuff for the future.