Aadil Ghulam Bhat

    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 sp...

Amidst the pattering of the rain, A dreary day, full of pain, No sight of sun, no warmth, no light, like a soul lost, in an endless night.   Each drop a reminder of a struggle, A burden, a hardship, a constant juggle, A reminder of a life so bleak, Of a future that seems so weak.   As the clouds loom overhead, A heaviness settles in like lead, The weight of worries and fears, Too much to bear, too many tears.   Each puddle, a reflection of the past, A reminder of a struggle that lasts, Like a soul trapped, in a cycle of pain, A life of loss, with nothing to gain.   Yet in the midst of all this sorrow, There's a glimmer of hope for tomorrow, Just as the rain will eventually end, So will this struggle, hardship, this trend.   And like the sun that will surely shine, A life of hope, of joy, of love and divine  Will emerge from the darkness of the past, And a future brighter than ever will be cast.     So let the rain fa...

  The three hundred and thirteen "Suhaba ra*"  in Battle of badr. With horses scarce and swords so few, They set out to fight, a valiant crew, Their numbers small, their chances slight, Yet they pressed on, with hearts so bright. Their enemy loomed, a daunting sight, But they stood their ground, with all their might, For they had a purpose, a noble goal, To save their faith, to save their soul. In poverty, they marched ahead, A vision clear within their head, With God on their side, they knew they'd win, And so they fought, with all their sinew and skin. Their faith was strong, their trust secure, In God they found their strength and more, They rose above, their spirits high, For with God's help, they'd touch the sky. And so they battled, day and night, Their hearts aglow, with hope and light, Against all odds, they did prevail, For they were champions, with God's tale. Their story one of hope and will, A tale of faith, that triumphs still, For even in poverty...

Once free, I roamed the sky, With wings that carried me high. A world of wonder, 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, I had no fear, For in my heart, there was no smear. But as I sat upon his palm, He locked me up in his realm. The cage was small, the walls were cold, My wings were clipped, 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, so sweet and clear, I sang a song for all to hear, Of tyranny and betrayal too, Of beauty lost, and pain that's new. I the innocent bird, with my pity voice, Sang the song of tyranny, with no rejoice. But still, i croon with all my might, For freedom, for justice, for the light. The...

My total indifference and poverty, Where humiliation weighs Heavily as a slab of concrete. And the egos are waiting for the Promised advent of altruistic birds Without egoistic plumage Longer than a day, hot, and far too large For their meagre contents. On the branches of egoistic fate, Vultures of Simplicity ought to be present. Observing people's attempts to give Their life some appearance of Significance, yet this stillness is gradually developing across the globe Their egoistic fate is a bleached night. Rich people's wings sweep my dignity, And for a brief moment, they see The poor as they fade into obscurity, Their heads bowed in defiance of The sour wind of money. The poem describes the struggles of an individual who faces poverty and humiliation, surrounded by a world driven by ego and materialism. It highlights the irony of people's attempts to find significance in their lives while neglecting the simplicity and altruism that could bring them true happiness. The poe...

I walked among the tidal wails.  In the suit of scarlet red:  And steps seemed dark and bright.  My hat was on its head, But I never saw myself, looked  So wistfully at the day's end. I never saw myself, looked  With such a wistful eye  Upon that little tent of stars  Which people call the hope of eye,  And at every cloudy vision  Onto each foggy image that passed by. None did wring my hands, as do Those imbecile people who dare  To try to rear the jerk  Hope In the cave of black Despair:  I only looked upon the blue.  And Inhale the hopeful air. None did wring my hands nor weep.  Nor did i peak or pine. But i breath the air as though it held  Some healthful tedious, somewhat decline With open mouth i drank the hope  As though it had been red wine! I along with all the other suffering  That were trampling the other ring.  Forgot wheather i had done something  Noteworthy. i simply was dull amaz...

I wade ashore at the crack of dawn with a spear and a shield in my hands.  I must have frequently trod on death unaware. The square sails of our fleet flutter in the breeze behind me  As the dragons search for my adversary and their little spears,  Which swarm like flies. The mail coat rubs on my shoulders. I have no escape from the sea, but none is desired,  So by the next high tide either my fanatic will point as promised  Or the battle-watchers will have taken me all. I am a thread in the tapestry of history today. Poem summary: The poem above is a short, descriptive piece that paints a picture of a warrior wading ashore at dawn, ready for battle. "A Tale of Strategy and Valor", seems to be a descriptive tale of a warrior who has just arrived on a beach at dawn, ready to engage in battle, based on the context provided in the poem. The savage wields a spear and a shield, and their mail coat, which is causing discomfort to their shoulders, is rubbing against th...