1

On the edge of a terrace,
Stood a woman-
Desolate, distressed and dismayed,
Even these may fall short
To sketch her state.
And numerous violent storms
Perturbed her mind.

With her heart pounding
As loud as thunder, she
Gathering a mountain of courage,
And with a smile on her face-jumped…
To set herself free-
From all her worries, her fears
And tormenting scars.

But on her way down-
The smirk turned into tears,
And the sense of freedom
Into a fierce scream.
She had left her agonies behind,
Yet realized, how precious
The gift of life is.
But alas! To undo the fall
’twas a little too late.

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2

I am an old man,
Devoid of care and respect.
My children, my careless children,
Apathetic of loving me, yet,
Have kept me, to boast of their kind hearts.
I am haunted, not by my state,
But looking at them,
How poor!
I am an old man,
I am “literature”!
From Canterbury Tales to King Lear,
I was respected,
By Chaucer, Keats, Sylvia and Shakespeare.
How bright were the days,
How serene the nights.
I giggled in the lap of Manto,
I relished the moments with Blake.
I remember,
I was the crown,
On the head of Ghalib, Iqbal, Mir and Jaun.
I was loved like an infant,
I was “Literature”!

O! The self-proclaimed
Wordsworths, Shakespeares, Jauns and Ghalibs
I am Literature,
Mighty enough to launch a thousand ships,
Mighty enough to destroy Macbeth and Faustus.
Melodious enough to be music to your ears!
You are but a speck of dust,
Against my legacy.
I am a powerful young man,
I am Literature!

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3

Now that you are away,
Nature no more feels kind.
The cloud, the paddy and the wind-
No more here,
Smile at me, soothe my heart or cuddle with me.
As they did, when you were here.

Now that you are away,
The cloud, like a ferocious lion-
Growls in anger,
Eager to pounce on its prey,
And tear it apart.

Now that you are away,
The paddy, like a thousand arrows-
Ready to be shot,
And slash my heart into a million pieces.

Now that you are away,
The wind, like that old stern shopkeeper-
Whizzing with heavy breath,
Annoyed by knavish kids,
And his hand held up,
To slap my face.

Now that you are away,
Nature no more feels kind.

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Also read:

For the Love of Exaggeration and Other Poems – Rizwan Akhtar