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Poetry! =P

M

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Rain in Summer

How beautiful is the rain!
After the dust and heat,
In the broad and fiery street,
In the narrow lane,
How beautiful is the rain!
How it clatters along the roofs,
Like the tramp of hoofs
How it gushes and struggles out
From the throat of the overflowing spout!
Across the window-pane
It pours and pours;
And swift and wide,
With a muddy tide,
Like a river down the gutter roars
The rain, the welcome rain!
The sick man from his chamber looks
At the twisted brooks;
He can feel the cool
Breath of each little pool;
His fevered brain
Grows calm again,
And he breathes a blessing on the rain.
From the neighboring school
Come the boys,
With more than their wonted noise
And commotion;
And down the wet streets
Sail their mimic fleets,
Till the treacherous pool
Ingulfs them in its whirling
And turbulent ocean.
In the country, on every side,
Where far and wide,
Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide,
Stretches the plain,
To the dry grass and the drier grain
How welcome is the rain!
In the furrowed land
The toilsome and patient oxen stand;
Lifting the yoke encumbered head,
With their dilated nostrils spread,
They silently inhale
The clover-scented gale,
And the vapors that arise
From the well-watered and smoking soil.
For this rest in the furrow after toil
Their large and lustrous eyes
Seem to thank the Lord,
More than man's spoken word.
Near at hand,
From under the sheltering trees,
The farmer sees
His pastures, and his fields of grain,
As they bend their tops
To the numberless beating drops
Of the incessant rain.
He counts it as no sin
That he sees therein
Only his own thrift and gain.
These, and far more than these,
The Poet sees!
He can behold
Aquarius old
Walking the fenceless fields of air;
And from each ample fold
Of the clouds about him rolled
Scattering everywhere
The showery rain,
As the farmer scatters his grain.
He can behold
Things manifold
That have not yet been wholly told,--
Have not been wholly sung nor said.
For his thought, that never stops,
Follows the water-drops
Down to the graves of the dead,
Down through chasms and gulfs profound,
To the dreary fountain-head
Of lakes and rivers under ground;
And sees them, when the rain is done,
On the bridge of colors seven
Climbing up once more to heaven,
Opposite the setting sun.
Thus the Seer,
With vision clear,
Sees forms appear and disappear,
In the perpetual round of strange,
Mysterious change
From birth to death, from death to birth,
From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth;
Till glimpses more sublime
Of things, unseen before,
Unto his wondering eyes reveal
The Universe, as an immeasurable wheel
Turning forevermore
In the rapid and rushing river of Time.

By H.W Longfellow
 
Midnight dream

Midnight dream

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Main woh kis tarhan se karon bayan jo kiye gaye hain sitam yahan
Sune kon meri ye dastaan koi humnashi hy na raazdan,
Jo tha jhoot woh bana sach yahan nahi kholi maine magar zuban,
Ye akelapan ye udasiyaan meri zindagi ki hy tarjman

Meri zaat zara benishaan <3<3<3
 
M

My Name

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Midnight dream said:
NA hai koi Fard jissey karon main bayan
Jo hai dard meri ragon main rawan dawan .(myself)

Made it in hardly 2 mins.I know its really bad but made it today for a person.So it is an honour for me to write for that person.
Click to expand...
First things,first.It is NOT bad. -.- Pagal.

You write,be proud of that.You wrote for someone,it shows your are not selfish.You took the time to write,that shows generosity.
If people cant see that,then its their fault.
 
paradoX error

paradoX error

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gather ye rosebuds while ye may
old time is still a-flying
the flower that smiles today tomorrow will be dying.

Because we are food for worms.Believe it or not, each and everyone in this room.... is one day going to stop breathing, turn cold and die.
 
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