Skip to main content

GRUDGE OF BROKEN HEART






Why, the moon knows.

Why did you cry last night?

The moon knows, why?

It was you who left me.

I was not enough, I know

I was half loved, every time

Tried to fix my blurred,

Faded and incomplete way

Just a quadrupled gesture

Just an outraged and withered

Part that has faded me,

Plucked me out.

It was just hard to unlove .

Never can the sun shine,

To end the never ending gloom.






The theme of this poem is heartbreak and the pain of unrequited love. The speaker expresses their feelings of hurt and betrayal as they mourn the loss of their love. They are struggling to come to terms with the fact that they were not enough for their lover, and they were only ever half-loved. The theme of heartbreak is evident in the way the speaker describes their emotions, using words such as "blurry," "faded," and "incomplete."

The poem revolves around the metaphor of the moon, representing the unknown and the uncertain. The moon is often used to symbolize emotions, and in this case, it represents the speaker's feelings of confusion and uncertainty about their relationship. The moon knows the reason for the speaker's tears, suggesting that there is some hidden meaning behind the heartbreak that the speaker cannot fully comprehend.

The poem also touches on the theme of unrequited love, which is evident in the speaker's feelings of being half-loved. They feel like they have given everything they have to offer but were never truly appreciated or loved in return. The theme of unrequited love is further reinforced by the lines, "Just a quadrupled gesture/Just an outraged and withered/Part that has faded me/Plucked me out," which suggest that the speaker's efforts to fix their relationship were in vain and only led to further hurt and pain.

In summary, this poem is a heartfelt expression of the pain and heartbreak of unrequited love. The speaker's use of the moon as a metaphor for their emotions adds a sense of mystery and depth to the poem. The theme of heartbreak is evident in the speaker's descriptions of their feelings, while the theme of unrequited love is reinforced through their feelings of being half-loved. Ultimately, this poem captures the raw emotions of heartbreak and unrequited love in a powerful and moving way.








Author's note 

Myself Adil ghulam bhat, I am a poet and the author of a  books (100 years of my painful nights, Nights in solitude). Poetry does not have such tips because it is the art of expressing emotions, feelings and can never be based on tips. Poetry is a profound literature and plays a role with proper system. 


NIGHTS-IN-SOLITUDE-





A creative writing technique is usually characterized by a certain rhythm and style. The modern poet wears many hats: he can write ghazals, produce commercial genre, create poetry books, write for greeting card companies, work for websites and compete in competitions; Just to have a few names.






 Learn the basics of poetry.






 A poet is one who conveys ideas and emotions to others through the written word. Although many people associate poetry with words that make poetry, a poet can choose one of the many different ways of writing to convey his message.






I will share some important ways to build a poem. 






1 Read a lot of basic poetry. 






2 improve your vocabulary (literary words). 






3 write what you feel in day to day life on a roughly page then arrange them with minimum word length. 






4 Use concrete thoughts and give them shape use poetic devices like metaphors, similies, images, personification, oxymoron etc.... 






5 Match thoughts and then you will start to become a Eminant poet.. 






         You can also read my poetry on my Personal Blog or on Youtube Poetry Blog. 












Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Do you hear the walls bleed

Aadil Ghulam Bhat  Poet and Author   Do you hear the walls bleed at night? Do you hear them weep in whispered wails, In midnight murmurs no man dares read, Their tired tales tucked beneath paint— Beneath the smog of propaganda? I have seen the silence scream. I have seen laughter die in daylight. I have seen light snuffed by sorrow, By eyes too tired to wonder. I have seen. I have seen— Pillows swallowing sobs like mourners, Doors that forgot the art of welcome, Ceilings sagging under secrets, Windows blinking away the bullets, As though war were only weather. The walls—they flinch in fright. They remember what we bury. They remember how bullets bloom, How joy jolts and dies on entry, How peace parades in camouflage. They wear wounds beneath wallpaper, Tremble in the tapestries of time. I asked the door, “How many left Barefoot, shadows stretched past dawn?” It did not answer—but it groaned. Every crack is a confession. Every nail, a narrative unnamed. Even the bricks wear qui...

In conversation with Tagore

            Aadil Ghulam Bhat               Poet & Author. (Where the mind is without fear  A nd the head is held high;  Where knowledge is free;  Where the world has not been broken up  into fragments by narrow domestic walls;) ~ Rabindranath Tagore  O h dear Tagore! the lament of the written words—this sacred art, Once a medium for profound contemplation, it has now been diminished to the triviality of emails and text messages. I can’t help, but imagine how you might have navigated this digital chaos.Perhaps you would have found yourself calling as an Instagram poet, crafting pithy 280-character gems of wisdom into condensed, bite-sized pieces perfectly suited for the fleeting attention spans of scrolling fingers. Your insightful reflections on the human condition would likely be drowned in a sea of hashtags like #LiteraryNoble and #nobleforlikes, lost amid an endless parade of selfies a...

The Misandry

Aadil Ghulam Bhat  Poet and Author  I see them in the streets, Hands raised not in harmony but in war, Calling it freedom— Yet binding themselves to old chains in new forms, Waving banners stitched with borrowed words. The voices rise, shrill and sharp, But the echo returns hollow. What is it they seek? Not balance, not equality— But a throne made of the ashes of men, Proclaiming it justice, as if vengeance wears a crown. Feminism—once a flame in the dark, Clear as the dawn, with purpose stark, Now chanted by those who wield it high, Not as a torch, but as a sword. They cut down all who dare stand, For how dare a man share the air they breathe? Do they know what they destroy? The bridge they set aflame Leads back to the same barren land, Where hatred wears the mask of liberation, And the chains—so polished, so proud— Are worn by choice, dressed in slogans. And I— I am but a quiet voice in the crowd, Speaking of shadows and illusions. But truth, forgotten, lingers in the dust O...