My Teacher's Beloved Wife
Adam was alone without Eve,
She became the source of his joy,
Not all, but known by a few,
Women's real ornament is to coy,
Marriage is the solution of many evils,
That also our requirements fulfills.
The lady is simple by her art,
She is my dear teacher's lovely wife,
Talks sincerly and laughs at heart,
That has come here leading a new life,
In kitchen, she'll be a good cook,
But in herself is a living book.
Regarding my teacher's Mr. Akmal Nazir's wife.
poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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My Friend Zone (AFZAL)
The next member is also essential,
Who is the tallest in all my friends,
By name he is known Afzal,
In gaining knowledge the time he spends.
Not a healthy person but he is thin,
But has caliber any field to win,
Many of us have been fed up with him,
As focus of his comments never dim.
[...] Read more
poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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Dejection
I've fed us with my life,
So I wish better to die,
Weakened I'm facing strife,
Like morning star in the sky,
No battle I've won, so I'm very shy.
My heart that must know smile,
Has forgotten really the delight,
And now turned to me hostile,
And my aspiration has taken flight,
Ah! No person pleases me nor boy sight.
The love was ever pure like dew,
Would inspire one to do good deed,
In modern age it's become so new,
And lust and money've made it greed,
My heart cries - Ah! Love has changed indeed.
poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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My Dream Girl
O, as marbles of her beautiful face,
And eyes, as intoxicating stream,
She leaves her beauty at every pace,
She is almost the girl of my dream.
The moon shames seeing her glamour,
When she laughs, flowers blossom,
As a nightingale of her murmur,
I feel pain-free of its out come.
Nothing is so sweet as her voice,
More than others she is holy and nice,
She is the moon has good manner to rejoice,
She is like venus and her styles entice.
She is an extraordinary I die for her,
love is full of girls but she is where?
poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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Shabaab (YOUTH)
Waqt ki andhiyon me udta ek khwab hai,
Zeest ke nisab ka ek haseen bab hai,
Jahan ki taqaton ka jo bus ek jawab hai,
Han yahi shabab hai, han yahi shabab hai.
Dagmate hain qadam antheron aur ujalo me,
Fans ke rah gaya her shakh husn ke sawalon me,
Zikr hai tera subh o sham ishq karne walo,
Chalte hain rahon me bus apne hi khayalo me.
Her qaum ki azmat ka wo jo ek nishaan hai,
Her inqalab ka jo hai dil aur uski shaan hai,
Rah-e-haq me badhne ko yun to her ek qurbaan,
Hai Khuda ko bhe fakhr agar aya koi jawaan hai.
poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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The Impact Of Love
Love is pretty, sweet and kind,
Like a beautiful hillside morn,
Blowing breeze and fragrance bind,
Then it is in one's heart born.
Life is the knot without love,
Like a dark night without moon,
Or something alone high above,
Writhing badly in scorching noon.
Love is mighty, can make and mar,
Has many forms and many names,
Its absence brings hatred and war,
But, storm and disaster it tames.
Love is holy, His books and favour,
Creation of angels, man and universe,
His mercy, prophets and their endeavour,
It also makes me compose this verse.
poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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The Moon Of Eid
O, the moon! We've gathered,
To catch thy lovely sight,
Thou art harbinger of joy,
And on thy face lies delight.
Children look happy, elder smile,
Thy presence's brought them light,
Bestowed gifts for prayer and fast,
Their face shining in the night.
O, moon! We've pain behind our joy,
Behold them all from thy height,
They're homeless, orphan and terrified,
How'll they celebrate Eid in this plight?
One has lost one's father or mother,
Who would feed sweets, hug themtight,
Or parents sit dreaming their killed children,
How is this Eid when joy's taken flight?
poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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On My Death
Around me stand my friends and kin,
And a person too whose heart couldn't win,
Grieved badly and tears they shed,
Seeing my dead body on the bed.
Oh! open not my folded shroud,
Let not them see my broken heart,
Let not express my pain on the crowd,
else none will love his beloved by heart.
Those who kicked down my lovely rose,
And compelled me whole night weep,
For my gifts who bestowed me pathos,
Now hiding their faces, they too weep.
Why you have made you eyes wet,
Wipe! Wipe! these drops of dew,
The rising sun has ever to set,
And so I, it was earlier view.
poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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My Unrest
Pain grows sometimes behind the chest,
That makes unrest inside of me,
Then my surroundings I begin to detest,
Like a hungry lion left in the lea.
The sorrow is greater than the joy,
Like night heavier than the day,
Stable in darkness of failure, coy,
And tired, hungry forgot the way.
I'm here but nothing is mine,
Every laughing face hides a pile of grief,
I know not when my fortune will shine,
But seeing others, I see a sigh of relief.
Short lived man has works great,
Underneath which he lies down,
Time is narrow so not to wait,
Jump into the ocean of grief and drown.
poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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A Dusk In Nepal (at returning from there)
The sun calls back of its rays,
And ready to go far behind,
Birds and cattle are on their ways,
To reach home before the day turns blind,
A lark comes and claspes its nestling,
With my friends I see at the road,
Rolled down eyes pearls, I kept on smiling,
I miss my mother badly in abroad.
It gets dark, wild, bitterly winds blow,
And this cause the cold to grow,
By and by we make our pace slow,
And into a creeping bus in a row,
My emotions let me on my fancies fly,
All of sudden, I unwell vomit twice,
Once at a man whom to aside I try,
But journey has been certainly nice.
poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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