Under the Greenwood tree,
I wonder where that would be?
Cut, cut, chop, chop, trim away;
There’d rather be a mall, an office,
Or a freeway.
Sure we love to live in the sun,
That is the reason why the trees are done!
Suppose I find one, for instance,
Somewhere far away
At a distance,
A Greenwood tree.
Who would want to sit down, and talk and laugh?
For no one’s at leisure or free.
Going forward in their lives without a backward glance.
No time to look over their shoulder,
Or even a smile to pass.
A smile, or a benign nod,
Am I hoping for too much, oh dear God?
There I see someone I knew
They might have a minute or two.
I hope they’ll be just as glad that we met.
We had some good times when we shared our play-set.
But where I seek a pleasant expression,
There’s a pair of cold eyes that question,
‘What do you want from me?’
Under the Greenwood tree,
I wonder where that would be?
My Strength
By Dr. Javeria Hayat
Here in a trenched camp, among my troop
I shall sit staring till eyelids droop
By the dim candle flame I steadily gaze
With mind sunk in memories that can’t erase
Behold! It’s a mail I got early this year
Knowing by heart each word as marked here
Sighing, I scan perhaps for the hundredth time
Ask me and I could read it out like a rhyme
Holding firm, I dread lest the winds snatch away
The little beauty at what my eyes could stay
Miles away from home, guns are all I see
Letting me not set the bird of peace free
The dust in the air even a torrent can’t lay
I am where words end and feelings sway
Watching lifeless autumn turn leaves frail
I pray the awaited spring be hard on its trail
My boy and little girl had asked to return soon
Tell them if I do not by the end of June
One day with pride their eyes shall glow
When history honors their father as a hero
The patience of my dear wife made my fears flee
All she had for me were tears of hopeful glee
I knew I would miss her as much as could be
For the dark eyes revealed all she hid from me
At dusk when world slumbers deep, my ears catch
The cruel music of cannons that finds no match
Neither I am weak, nor do I whine
With blood in my eyes, I fight like a lion
To die as a martyr is what I crave
The fire in me dies once I rest in the grave
Taking my last breath eyes shining in victory
Flying high, I want the flag of my country!
Falsehood in Beauty
By Maryam Aftab
Behind those tender eyes
Are memories seized,
Its silence speaks
A thousand words,
Its glimmer hosts
A million dreams,
Its tears weep
A billion bawls.
Behind that pensive smile
Rest unheeded pains,
Its calmness hides
The roaring chaos,
Its amity carries
A dreadful misery,
Its solitude holds
A shattered memory.
Behind those sound scars
Lie tons of frozen emotions,
Its abundance grips
Each tale and myths,
Its wounds narrate
Ample sins,
Its numbness bears
The envious grudges.
Thus what she looks like
Isn’t what it should’ve been,
And, what they say
Is true indeed,
For what it is,
Is not what you’ve seen.
- Compiled by N.A
Finding One’s Way
by the Moonlight
“Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.”
Oscar Wilde, ‘The Critic as Artist’ |
