Aadil Ghulam Bhat

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....

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...

    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...