I Sang the freedom song.

Aadil Ghulam Bhat

Poet and Author

(Born on 02/04/1999)

Once free, I roamed the sky,

With wings that carried me high.

A world of wonder and a life of bliss,

No cage, no chains, no tethered kiss.

But then one day, I met a man

Who offered food with a gentle hand.

I trusted him, for in my heart

I had no fear, there was no smear.

But as I sat upon his gentle palm,

He locked me up in his golden cage.

The cage was small, its walls were cold,

My wings were clipped, and my spirit sold.

I sang a song of freedom then,

Of skies that held me high again.

I cried and wept for what I'd lost,

My innocence, my bliss, my cost.

And yet I sang with patience too,

For in my heart, I knew it's true,

That freedom comes to those who wait,

Who persevere, who don't berate.

So with my voice sweet and clear,

I sang the song for all to hear,

Of tyranny and betrayal too,

And of lost beauty, of hurting pain.

I, the innocent bird, with my pitying voice,

Sang the song of tyranny with no rejoice.

But still, I croon with all my might,

For freedom, for justice, for the light.

ABOUT AUTHOR.

Aadil Ghulam Bhat is a poet and writer from Kulgam in Jammu & Kashmir. He is well-known for his colourful and captivating literary works. Bhat writes with a great understanding of his surroundings and the clear cultural past of Kashmir, having graduated with a Bachelor of Science from Kashmir University. His poetry explores love, nature, and spirituality, while his literature crafts gripping tales that delve into the human psyche. Because of his talent in the literary world, Bhat is now acknowledged as a rising star in the area of writing.

No more on ridge.

 

Aadil Ghulam Bhat

[Poet & Novel writer]

 Born on 02- 04- 1999

The grass is now no more green.

And no tree can hold their leaves.

The sun is now hiding in misty cold.

Scenic beauty is no more on ridge.

The days are now no more long.

And no garden has a flowery tale.

Fall has subsided the green gold .

Flock singing is no more on ridge.

A dry, hot, loo is now no more strong.

And no Vale is singing the edenic song.

The heaven has now nothing to hold

Bird shrieking is no more on ridge .

The morning breeze is no more fare.

And no evening holds a crimson way

Fall has turn'd every green to gold.

Cloud dance is no more on ridge.

ABOUT AUTHOR:-

Aadil Ghulam Bhat, a poet, author, and novelist from Kulgam in Jammu and Kashmir, is well-known for his vivid and absorbing creative works. Bhat, a Bachelor of Science graduate of Kashmir University, writes with a great understanding of his surroundings and Kashmir's diverse cultural history. His prose weaves captivating stories that delve into the human mind, and his poetry explores themes of love, nature, and spirituality. Because of his talent in the literary world, Bhat is now known as a rising star in the field of writing.

Phone: 7051672115; email: adilgulambhat@gmail.com.

My father old father!

Aadil Ghulam Bhat

[Poet & Novel writer]

Born on 02- 04- 1999.

Last Friday, through the window,

Beside me was father's aging face.

Pale, lined mouth, less toothed,

Silver hair, once dark, uncloaked.

Thoughts put away, rearview's glint,

Journeyed together, ageless shimmer.

Face, pale as sea sand, temporal hug,

Wrinkles etched by life's gentle trace.

Late winter's fourteenth moon

Shone bright, was his reflecting beauty.

Now feels as old as fading starlight,

Crow's feet and a graceful bend,

A gentle mark, seized reveries.

Despite the changing tides of age,

Clocks may tick and years may fly,

Love still stands, love stands resolute.

From Oasis to Abyss!

Aadil Ghulam Bhat

[Poet & Novels writer]

Born on 02- 04 - 1999

She was oasis to my desert.

A sun of hope to my heart. 

The whispers of affection.

A red whinny ink unto my pen.

A freedom of a prisoner

My nightingale, a beautiful listner.

A bunch of words to my poetry.

A poem decorated with imagery.

She was moonlight in my darkness,

A balm of solace to my distress.

The echoes of sweet devotion,

A golden sonnet in constant motion.

A liberty to my captive soul,

Making broken hearts whole.

She is verses in my rhyme,

An art painted with over time.

She was the calm before the storm,

A rainbow after the rain has worn.

The anchor in my stormy sea,

A melody in the chaos, wild and free.

The heavenly muse that fueled my art,

A beating rhythm in my lonely heart.

She was a sunrise after the night,

A haven where everything felt right.

Now she is water to a flaming fire,

A faulty, busted, twisted wire.

A colourless resistor to my current, 

A cloudy fade unto my Crescent,

She is now "Azrael" to my life.

The cut of furious and sharp knife.

Poem on YouTube..... Click here.

Voice of vale!

On the bridge of Jehlum, where memories flow,

I stand by the banks  in June's gentle glow.

Under the chinar tree, with its branches wide,

I don my phiran, where tears can no longer hide.

Oh, Kashmir, once adorned with nature's grace,

Now stained by turmoil, a tragic, sorrowful chase.

Your lost beauty, a lament upon my tongue,

Echoing through valleys where once joy had sprung.

The Jehlum, once a mirror of serenity and peace,

Now reflects the pain, the struggle, the ceaseless lease.

But inserted the tears and the lingering despair,

Hope sprouts like wildflowers in the mountain air.

For Kashmir, my beloved, I weep and yearn,

Aching for the day when your beauty will return.

May peace descend upon your valleys, serene and pure,

And may your lost splendour, one day, be restored.

Under the chinar tree, I offer my prayer,

That your skies may clear, and your people repair.

Through the echoes of tears, may laughter resound,

And Kashmir's lost beauty, once again, be found....

MY LAST WORDS TO YOU.

Oh breeze, so metaphorical and free, 

Carry my plea, oh hear my plea.

By the sea, she stands alone, 

Amidst the vast expanse unknown. 

Her gaze fixed on the distant shore, 

Yearning for what lies in store.

Consonance sings a sweet serenade, 

Last love letter on dreams we laid.

Enjambment, a bridge of words, 

For emotions to flow like birds, 

From line to line, without a pause, 

A journey through poetic laws.

Echo undying, Verse to verse, 

Forever ringing, No need to rehearse.

Each step I take, draws me near, 

A path of stones, guiding clear.

Her heart's shore, fearless and clear.

Words adorned with symbols so fine, 

Red roses, passion that will forever shine.

A river of heartfelt desire, 

The quill's ink flows with fire. 

Words spill out in endless streams, 

A poet's heart, a writer's dreams.

Love, a testament so true, 

Consuming all like fire do.

The poet's pearl, my last words to you.

©The last letter.....poem 

SOAR TO SKY! THE TENACIOUS.

 

 

Oh, how wonderful it is to be compared to an eagle,

soaring through the skies with grace and power!

It's almost as if I, mere mortal that I am, Possess the same majestic qualities as this king of birds.

Alas, as I sit here hunched over my table of books,

Pecking away at the pen like a frantic little sparrow,

I can't help but feel that the comparison is slightly misplaced. 

Nevertheless, I shall take comfort in the thought

That at least in someone's gleaming, limped and sparkly eyes,

I am as fierce and formidable as the eagle.

The poem presents the contrast between the narrator's aspirations to be majestic like an eagle and the reality of their mundane life. The narrator feels inadequate as they compare themselves to the soaring bird, yet they take comfort in the idea that someone might see them as equally formidable. This contrast highlights the human tendency to aspire to greatness, yet struggle to reconcile those dreams with the limitations of reality. The poem speaks to the universal experience of feeling small and insignificant in the face of our grand ambitions, but also finding solace in the thought that we are capable of more than we give ourselves credit for.

The poem also touches on the power of perception and how it can shape our sense of self-worth. The narrator finds comfort in the idea that someone sees them as fierce and formidable, even if they do not see themselves in that way. This raises the question of how much weight we should give to other people's opinions of us, and whether or not we should allow those perceptions to define our own self-image.

Furthermore, the poem highlights the value of embracing our own unique qualities and strengths. The narrator may not possess the same physical attributes as an eagle, but they have their own talents and abilities that make them special. It reminds us that we should not compare ourselves to others or hold ourselves to impossible standards, but rather focus on developing our own strengths and abilities.

In conclusion, the poem captures the internal struggle of balancing our aspirations with reality, the power of perception in shaping our self-worth, and the importance of embracing our own unique qualities. It reminds us to be kind to ourselves and to find comfort in the thought that we are capable of greatness in our own way.