This podcast is about poetry recitation and short stories and hopefully more than that in future,
Sometimes the recitated poetry will be my own and sometimes your favourite poets
You can ask me if you would like to dedicate or listen to your favourite poems i'll be glad to serve you with my voice đ
And yeah I can speak in Urdu,English and Kashmiri that would be all
Thanks đ
Love y'all âĽď¸
"Bonedog" by Eva H.Dis a poignant poem that delves into the themes of grief, memory, and the passage of time. The poet uses vivid imagery and emotional resonance to depict the narrator's experience of loss, as they grapple with the absence of a beloved companion, the titular "Bonedog." Through metaphors and introspection, the poem explores the ways in which memories are preserved and transformed, highlighting the connection between the physical world and the realm of memory. The poem captures the complex emotions associated with the inevitability of death, while also celebrating the enduring bond between humans and their cherished companions. Ultimately, "Bonedog" invites readers to reflect on the profound impact of loss and the ways in which we remember and honor those who have left us.
28 Mar 2023
April| Mikael De lara co đ
April| Mikael De lara co
3 Dec 2022
Do not go gentle into that good night. -Dylan thomasđ
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. -Dylan Thomas đ
1 Dec 2022
Under Milk Wood -Dylan Thomas đ
Every morning when I wake,
Dear Lord, a little prayer I make,
O please do keep Thy lovely eye
On all poor creatures born to die
And every evening at sun-down
I ask a blessing on the town,
For whether we last the night or no
Iâm sure is always touch-and-go.
We are not wholly bad or good
Who live our lives under Milk Wood,
And Thou, I know, wilt be the first
To see our best side, not our worst.
O let us see another day!
Bless us all this night, I pray,
And to the sun we all will bow
And say, good-bye â but just for now!
-Dylan Thomas đ
7 Aug 2022
Bluebird [Charles Bukowski] đđ
Like most of Charles Bukowskiâs other works, Bluebird is a straightforward, hard-hitting, and rather gut-tugging poem. A literary punch to the gut. A hyper-dose of reality, so to speak. In this poem, Bukowski speaks of a bluebird in his heart. A bluebird that he repeatedly smashes down to hide away from prying eyes. He is too tough for the bluebird, he pours whiskey on it, smokes it down with cigarettes, so none of the whores, the bartenders, and especially none of his readers can see it. As a writer who makes his living by selling pain sealed under a hard casing of machismo, there is little room for vulnerability, let alone, a kindle of happiness. ( KRISTEL MARIE PUJANES).........[[ No copyright intended to music except voclas]]
29 Sept 2021
"han ye sach hai"
A poem by ~Tehzeeb hafi đ
18 Sept 2021
"Tera chup rehna mere zehen mein kya baith gaya"
A poem written by Tehzeeb Hafi đ
28 Jul 2021
No smoke without you ~ Edwin Morgan đ
No smoke without you, my fire.
After you left,
your cigarette glowed on in my ashtray
and sent up a long thread of such quiet grey
I smiled to wonder who would believe its signal
of so much love. One cigarette
in the non-smoker's tray.
As the last spire
trembles up, a sudden draught
blows it winding into my face.
Is it smell, is it taste?
You are here again, and I am drunk on your tobacco lips.
Out with the light.
Let the smoke lie back in the dark.
Till I hear the very ash
sigh down among the flowers of brass
I'll breathe, and long past midnight, your last kiss.
Edwin Morgan
About the poem: âNo Leaders Please' is a poem by Charles Bukowski, it's from one of his books, 'The Pleasures of the Damned'. This poem is a reminder to remain a free spirit and never letting anyone else decide who you are.
The tags that people provide you don't define you and that your independence is yours and yours alone. Although the poem doesn't mention leaders, the title does, and the content suggests a rejection of leadership.
About the author:
Charles Bukowski, (Henry Charles Bukowski, Jr.) was born August 16, 1920, Andernach, Germany and was brought to United States by his father at the age of two. He grew in America. He is known as a prolific underground writer who used his poetry and prose to depict the vices of urban society and highlight the typicality of America. Bukowski relied on experience, emotion, and imagination in his work, using direct language and violent and sexual imagery which is evident in his poems. He died March 9, 1994 in San Pedro, California, U.S.
4 Feb 2021
Postcard from Kashmir đ
Agha Shahid Ali, an Indian-American Kashmiri poet, was born on 4 February 1949, New Delhi, India. He was born in a respected Agha family of Srinagar. Shahid was schooled at the Burn Hall School later he went to University of Kashmir and Hindu college, University of Delhi. He left for United States in 1976 and in 1984 he earned a PhD in English from Pennsylvania state university and in 1985 an M.F.A from university of Arizona. He was at teaching positions at nine universities and colleges in India as well as United States.
Agha has written nine poetry collections, a collection of ghazals and a book of literary criticism (1986). He has also translated a collection of Faiz Ahmad Faiz's poetry(1992) and edited Ravishing Disunities: Real Ghazals in English (2000). Agha was known for his unique blend of multiple ethnic influences and ideas in his work. His Hindu, Muslim and Western heritage are reflected in his works.
Agha started publishing his work in the early 1970s but his collection "A walk through the Yellow Pages" was the reason he gained widespread recognition. His famous work include: "A walk though the Yellow Pages"(1987), "The Half-inch Himalayas"(1987), "A Nostalgist's Map of America"(1991), "The Country Without a Post Office"(1997), and "Rooms are never Finished"(2001), the later a finalist for the National Book Award.
Agha Shahid Ali was later diagnosed with brain cancer and died of it on December 8 2001 in Amherst, Massachusetts.
30 Jan 2021
"On the necessity of sadness" đMikael de Lara Co đ
] "On the Necessity of Sadness" - đMikael de Lara Co
đ
Let me tell you about longing.
Let me presume that I have something
new to say about it, that this room,
naked, its walls pining for clocks,
has something new to say
about absence. Somewhere
the crunch of an apple, fading
sunflowers on a quilt, a window
looking out to a landscape
with a single tree. And you
sitting under it. Let go,
said you to me in a dream,
but by the time the wind
carried your voice to me,
I was already walking through
the yawning door, towards
the small, necessary sadnesses
of waking. I wish
I could hold you now,
but that is a line that has
no place in a poem, like the swollen
sheen of the moon tonight,
or the word absence, or you,
or longing. Let me tell you about
longing. In a distant country
two lovers are on a bench, and pigeons,
unafraid, are perching beside them.
She places a hand on his knee
and says, say to me
the truest thing you can.
I am closing my eyes now.
You are far away.
12 Jan 2021
Tonight I can write the saddest lines by đPablo Neruda đ
Tonight I Can Write (The Saddest Lines)
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, 'The night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.'
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
Translation by W. S. Merwin
7 Dec 2020
"ALONE" đEDGAR ALLAN POEđ
Alone is a poem that offers the reader a glimpse into the mind of Edgar Allan Poe. He was often seen as being different, and his writing, in many cases, was so dark that it alienated him. In this poem, he acknowledges that from a very young age he knew that he was different. He goes on to say that he never enjoyed the things that others did and he never found sorrow in that which others did. Poe describes many things in which almost everyone would gaze at in awe and wonder - like lightning, mountains, and other natural wonders - but he did not. These symbols also serve to give the reader a sense that time is passing by. Poe was drawn away from the natural beauty of these things by the "demon" in his view. This demon could be interpreted in many ways, but most likely represents death and his deep loneliness. In general, the title represents how Poe has always been alone and isolated in the way he perceived himself and all around him.
4 Jun 2020
"Dil akhir tu kyu rota h" by javaid akhter đ
This is dedicated to all the broken and hopless one's out there,i justt want to tell you that hold on dont let go,the dawn is coming and everything will be alright,dont let the warrior die in you....you will make it, believe in yourself â
22 May 2020
Javaid akhter special đ
"Yaad usey bhi ik adhora afsana hoga"
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