Aadil Ghulam Bhat

  I the impassionate to play the game of love.  Will seek the spirit of love, blessedness thereof.  Was anguish to love, i the quite imperfect,  But upon whom i fall, i know not.  I've searched for you on every night.  I've called out for you in every dream.  Blameless in due time, but in silent grave.  And my nights are slow, sad and strange.  When my words fall heavily, none come to listen.  No longer need you to hide too well I the falling leaf of autmn, seek the perfect race.  I the eld thought, seal the deal to heal.  WATCH GLORIOUS POEMS ON YOUTUBE Follow on instagram https://instagram.com/blogger_poet Follow on blogger. https://adilghulambhat.blogspot.com Follow on Facebook. https://facebook.com/Poetrywriteraadilgulambhat Follow on Twitter. https://twitter.com/poetryblog.

  Peregrine in the midst, glide down to crimson west.  Awesome standing against sky, promising hundred births of best.  And into the blue blood battle of deep and moving waves.  Then served eleven waves till to made them slaves.  None out of eleven shouting, haunted waves are at rest.  Ignobly, all the eleven can't refuse even with utmost request.  Still singing one more time, forgot about my potion.  And is a glory in strange storming winds over ocean.  No sailing boat, no sight of shore anymore.  Sans tranquility, ocean of eleven waves was not lonely before.  Follow on instagram https://instagram.com/blogger_poet Follow on blogger. https://adilghulambhat.blogspot.com Follow on Facebook. https://facebook.com/Poetrywriteraadilgulambhat Follow on Twitter. https://twitter.com/poetryblog.

  And also, this morning when i woke,  The pleasant colours were turn'd into black n white.  The Apples,  still on the trees, shrouded by white.  Still soldered to their branches by frozen snow.  The Paddy grains, in the white feilds,  Hanging to their spikelets,, are wrapped with scarves.  It sems like I've seen through  the window,  The near future of middle winter laid over Autumn.  The ending season of harvesting, splash the crops and fruits,  Along the whinny outcry across the watery lands. It will not stay over long, like a nightmare,  But the early winter snow turned Parterre into grave.