The Lost Arrow
Up into the sky
My arrow flew;
Wish it returns
Like a drop of dew.
My curious eyes
Browse the green grass
My ominous heart
Fears losing it alas!
Up rises my stare
Defying the sun's glare...
Till darkness does fall
Counting stars I recall.
My ears would hear
Inaudible sound.
I was in despair.
It must be found.
I seemed to see
The arrow glide down;
Who knows what it hit,
Where it had flown.
It was a bird's feather
Playing mirage with my eyes;
Not my arrow, however,
My wounded heart cries.
The arrow is lost
I froze like frost;
It invisibly hurt
My bleeding heart.
Fariha's Poems Collection
Moderator: negatvone
Waiting...
I cup my palms to hold my tears
Your footsteps my dear soul hears
My weary eyes peer through
That window...waiting for you.
I know not why how my heart bears
Your absence is what it really fears
Lonely but hopeful, it is you I confide in
Waiting for you...perhaps waiting for life to begin...
I cup my palms to hold my tears
Your footsteps my dear soul hears
My weary eyes peer through
That window...waiting for you.
I know not why how my heart bears
Your absence is what it really fears
Lonely but hopeful, it is you I confide in
Waiting for you...perhaps waiting for life to begin...
Misunderstood
Often ominous unhappy silence
Makes no difference immense
Often countless shy glances
Go unnoticed - subject to chances...
And often a cry says a thousand words
And a word heals a million wounds...
A change have you unknowingly brought
In my heart that previously never sought
For true love and affection...
About something that I never thought...
I won't cease to remain obscure
In your cruel impassionate mind
That failed to logically justify
(Not that it didn't strenuously try)
My feelings arising from a vague nothingness
Trespassing all and having to transgress.
The frazzling gloom of being misunderstood
Has repeatedly made my eyes flood.
A loathsome feeling I could only arouse
An icy coldness your eyes therefore house.
Often ominous unhappy silence
Makes no difference immense
Often countless shy glances
Go unnoticed - subject to chances...
And often a cry says a thousand words
And a word heals a million wounds...
A change have you unknowingly brought
In my heart that previously never sought
For true love and affection...
About something that I never thought...
I won't cease to remain obscure
In your cruel impassionate mind
That failed to logically justify
(Not that it didn't strenuously try)
My feelings arising from a vague nothingness
Trespassing all and having to transgress.
The frazzling gloom of being misunderstood
Has repeatedly made my eyes flood.
A loathsome feeling I could only arouse
An icy coldness your eyes therefore house.
24th october 1999
Whatever it is...
Among the things which I like,
Among the things which I hate,
There is something neutral
.... - which neither can I treasure not reject.
Therefore I simply tend to ruin
The neutral curio, as an expression of
Hatred!
But delicately, softly and kindly
I press the remains deep into my heart,
With stiff and silent tears
Flowing down my bed!
Oh! What a thunder, what a lightning;
What an utmost frightening whim
Seems to trouble and devastate
My forgiving mind,
That forgets and forgives its own sins.
Sins, yes, wrongdoings of
That specific mind,
That fails to recognise itself
As a sinner.
Wants to be cared for, looked after
With the thoroughest precautions.
But in the case of its own deeds
Doesn't notice originality;
What it does, what it wants
Can't differentiate.
With such a confused, anxious state
It is not capable of living;
So, let it remove itself
From its source - whatever it is.
Whatever it is...
Among the things which I like,
Among the things which I hate,
There is something neutral
.... - which neither can I treasure not reject.
Therefore I simply tend to ruin
The neutral curio, as an expression of
Hatred!
But delicately, softly and kindly
I press the remains deep into my heart,
With stiff and silent tears
Flowing down my bed!
Oh! What a thunder, what a lightning;
What an utmost frightening whim
Seems to trouble and devastate
My forgiving mind,
That forgets and forgives its own sins.
Sins, yes, wrongdoings of
That specific mind,
That fails to recognise itself
As a sinner.
Wants to be cared for, looked after
With the thoroughest precautions.
But in the case of its own deeds
Doesn't notice originality;
What it does, what it wants
Can't differentiate.
With such a confused, anxious state
It is not capable of living;
So, let it remove itself
From its source - whatever it is.
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