Two Poems
By Ruhail Andrabi
Curfew tales
Cold dawn plays the trumpets of melancholy;
It cacophonously echoes in the chambers of innocence,
And gulps the peaceful silence of heart.
As the garb of terror shrouds the placid night,
The pristine drops of blood fall from the veins of martyrs
Just like dew drops from the Heaven.
The ship of eternal peace approaches,
Fighting the baying gust of melancholia
Only to embrace the corpses,
That lie in the grasses of martyrdom.
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Hope
When the sun hides behind
the obstinate mountains,
The rising night clandestinely whispers
All the tales of bloody hard times,
Into my deaf ears;
My eyes get festooned to happiness;
Because as time pass by
I see how the garden of my hardship
Blooms the flowers of happiness,
Where the bumble bees of new hopes
Buzz the music of happiness,
Just like birds celebrating the
Festival of spring.
No rivers of worries,
No rain of loneliness,
Only flakes of joy in the air.
Now, in the backyard of life
I find the corpses of
Those unfulfilled promises,
Growing into the red roses of love
Only to welcome the salubrious morning
In the orchard of my being.
Bio:
Ruhail Andrabi, a junior research fellow, is currently pursuing doctorate degree in educational sciences with a specialization in educational psychology. While pursuing his post-graduation, he discovered his great passion for literature and philosophy. Largely self-taught, he reads literature to understand the metaphysical elements in human life. He is highly influenced by Edgar Allan Poe, Robert Frost, Oscar Wilde, and JM Storm. He writes mainly on existentialism, love, realism, loneliness, etc. Recently eight of his poems got published in Dotism, a journal published from Sydney, Australia and two of his poems in the e-zine, Learning and Creativity.
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One Response to “Two Poems”
Both of your poems are very pragmatic, so if in the first one it’s about the hopelessness of conflict zones and their festering core, the second moves on to the idea of efforts, continuous efforts that bear fruit one day or the other even though the passage of waiting may consume us whole.