Aadil Ghulam Bhat

  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...

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.

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 "Azrae...

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...