Agarchay Eid guzar chuk hai magr, Eid occassion per aik "rubai"

ghairoon mein hay jo shad usay EID mubarak
jis ko naheen hum yaad usay EID mubarak
masoom say armanoon ki masoom si dunya
jo ker gaya barbad usay EID mubarak

Junior high school is a time of yearning
For what's ahead and what is left behind:
Neither child nor adult, but burning
Unrestrained with love and fear combined.
Now that we must leave, we have the pleasure
Of moving one step nearer who we are,
Knowing that we lose the equal treasure,
Bit by bit, of leaving dreams ajar.
How lucky we have been this awkward moment,
Shifting from the shade into the sun,
To have this school as our communal parent,
Guiding us as well as you have done!
More than skills improved or knowledge gained
Are intellects inspired and gifts unchained.

Twenty-eight enjoys a busy morning
Working unabated in her garden.
Each tiny plant is years away from bloom,
Needing now the gift of ample room
To grow before the ground begins to harden.
Yet there is much to savor in this dawning.
Each year the winter whistles its chill warning,
Inviting her to lay aside her burden,
Glimpse unsought of universal doom.
Hard at work, she finds her inner guerdon
To be the shoot that rises from the tomb.

Thank you for your good and gentle care,
Having made your classroom bright with song,
Apparent in my child's frequent smiles,
Nestled in his thoughts of right and wrong.
Kids, like teachers, know when love is there.
You are the connoisseur of many styles,
Opening through days difficult and long
Understandings supple, sweet, and fair.

Your presence is requested at
A moment of transcendence.
The mystery of turning one
Requires your attendance.

You will accomplish something more
Than favor, fun, or duty
By witnessing the passage of
A moment of great beauty.

I thank all who have loved me in their hearts,
With thanks and love from mine. Deep thanks to all
Who paused a little near the prison-wall
To hear my music in its louder parts
Ere they went onward, each one to the mart's
Or temple's occupation, beyond call.
But thou, who, in my voice's sink and fall
When the sob took it, thy divinest Art's
Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot
To hearken what I said between my tears, . . .
Instruct me how to thank thee ! Oh, to shoot
My soul's full meaning into future years,
That they should lend it utterance, and salute
Love that endures, from Life that disappears

Wedding Poems