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#Poetry ‘Season Of The Morning Star’ by Fiza Pathan

February 15, 2014

Season Of The Morning Star

By Fiza Pathan


The storm breaks and the rain wets

The atmosphere in bliss.

The peacock is awakened from his slumber

And he dances with the thunder

All feathers spread to show off

A myriad of beautiful colours.

Im Vogelpark bei Detmold

I’m not a poet of the rain

As I need it to hide my tears.

I hide my crying in the rain

And my screams in the lightning’s thunder.

I’m not a poet

And I never knew what love was like.

But ever since I’ve seen you

My sweet intellectual lover

Since then have I penned

Verses of amour so lovingly

As if the parchment were your face.

The rain breathes in the storm

With a gurgle in its throat.

The landscape which was parched

Is now drenched with the richness

Of heavenly holy water.

I walk in the rain to hide

What the world wishes to see.

You are kind dear intellectual lover

So you do not probe into

The misery of my rainy days.

I hear a moan when I walk in the rain

The sound of raindrops pelting my umbrella

As I look towards the grey sky

With pain in my gaze.

Dearest intellectual lover

You also are a poet,

A poet of profound thought.

Pray dance with my aura

In the sunlight which I adore.

Keep away the rain from my balcony

When you come to call me out to play

In the season of the brightest morning star.

Copyright © 2014 by Fiza Pathan


Image courtesy:

112467002635.jpgBy ameins

Rainy_Day_0909 (8).JPGBy Alvimann

Jb-DSC05964.JPGBy Jusben

From → Poetry

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