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Best Poems Written by Mushtaque Barq

Below are the all-time best Mushtaque Barq poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Introspection

Black is my ink
Black my pain
Dark must be thoughts now
Dense this tress must be
Night has anyway put on
A sketch of my darker lines
How shall now I write 
A poem of my darkness amidst black night
This ink too has submerged its blood
Like my thin ink
Circulating in my  dark veins
Who shall now read this dark volume,
Shall I open my crimson artery
To pen down thy tale
And my of my vale.

Details | Mushtaque Barq Poem

Poverty and Poor

Poverty and poetry

No bard is poor
But indeed all
For he sings 
For he weeps
When time demands
His pocket is poor
But his heart rich.

His books, his heir
His pens, his tools
His pains, his property
His poverty, his poetry
His poetry, his publicity
His publicity, his problem
His problem, high priced volumes
His wishes to buy all
His pocket sighs
Why on earth publishers shelf
Makes him rich
And we wait in queues
To correct our vision.

In his fancies, he rules
But in reality, he is ruled
What makes him write
Is no currency notes
His blood flooded with tears
To narrate common woe.

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Few Days More

Few days more my dreams need to come true, 
In that heart me to kindle a candle
The conurbation of lovers’ to locate 
And to renovate the ruins of past
And to patch up with a friend much annoy’d
Few days I need, few days more I need. 

To heal the wound of love deep and down
To raise the pennon of pain so high
To make the wind pleasant and saccharine 
To glide the kite of hope up in Blue
To make every troubl’d eye to gaze at it
Few days I need, few days more I need.

To cut a gate through that steel of hatr’d
Negligence, ignorance and the race 
To let the air overtake the barb’d line
To make the earth a place universal
With no country, coinage and congress 
Few days I need, few days more I need.

To make my beloved to touch the peaks
Of my platonic love so untaint’d
To make her heart soft, tranquil and calm
To discover listening the grief on beats 
Battered down by nay but native sob 
Few days I need, few days more I need.

To make a Brooke to sing not from book
But from the half dead voice of the poets
The verses they compose from broken beats
Nay with steel Nibs, but by the rib’s edge
To make the mass to pick up the ache
Few days I need, few days more I need.

Details | Mushtaque Barq Poem

To a Refugee

Advise nay me, oh ye refugee
For pains have found a joy
And the sighs, a song so dulcet
And errors have designed my crown with diamonds.

 Ye O! refugee, nay believe in reasons
For my ignorance has blessed me
With innocense and Love and Beloved
And my reasons have snatched my word.

Nay ye O! refugee in thy camp lives
A wish that as soft as puffs of heaven
For It lives deep into the bosom of Innocents
And on the crown of king without subjects.

Nay ye ask me O refugee, the pain of this heart
For my pains but dissolve in my vein's ocean
And my blood has lost the colour
And my face is snow white, calm and content

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Sweet Pain

Deep into my heart
A pain  so sweet and dulcet
Un traced but delicate

And over my eyes
A flow gentle in full glow
Marking Ah!my ail

And some folds of love
Like a virgin waiting for
The beloved's cozy arms.

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Understanding

Break the pot of mind
Nay with stone or hammer but
Break hard it in love

For the rest, may need
A piece to live, earn
The bread for a voiceless lot

Broken pot thus serve
Nay for potter alone but
For earth to dig hard.

Details | Mushtaque Barq Poem

Licenced To Write Poem

I write, what to me and you
comma instead of colon, I use
Vowels at will, so what!
I am licenced to write poems.

Rhyme? a ring of my little finger
Rhythm but my gate keeper
Puns and punctuations Tom and Jerry
Fight often
Bark occasionally;
My mood but a King crazy
Raises huts
Breaks edifices
Punishes the metre
But saves the matter
Order reverse the reveries revered
I am licenced to write poems.

My inabilities, my poetic devices
Errors, my punctuation marks suitable
My blank and free verses
Nay but oxymorons and paradoxes
All faces fair
My pages to write
I write what others criticise
I re-write what others praise
I am licenced to write poems.

My metaphors are metachemical
My smilies, similarities ironical
My exclamations vary
Like my broken pens many
I write on walls, when it rains
I have my style unique and unfair
I use, misuse the Muse
I am licenced to write poems.

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Devotion

Go with the wind Oh! my pigeon
And sit on the minaret of my Beloved
Kiss it softly, gently and sacredly
And come fast, pierce your beak
Deep into my heart to feel that touch
Of love and devotion.

Do go over the lovely vales
And do pick the scent of roses
Do go over the velvety rocks
And pick a touch cozy gentle
Do go over the Oceans' deep
And pick the sheen of cool breeze
And don't forget to pass over my ailing heart
For every pulse ,there , looking to be healed.

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Ghazal

candid is veiled virgin's synode tonight
Amble clouds gamble goblets filled tonight

Malidictions valid stand by nay firm
Untill a streak dismay  wounds tonight

Love's debauchery who can now neglect
Allegiant callop alamored tonight

Waste nay tears for things silly O Drunkard
Do see silken robes over jet tonight.

Couch thy care ,offer good looks if ye care
Love has spread wings to lull lover's tonight.

How many candles shall burn upto ash
A heap under lashes protest tonight.

Let my old cheek's blush a stroke of love be 
To write on horizon thy name tonight.



Ghazal

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Our Blood

Our blood they say, but a rotten puss
And to our tears they say, water of Absurity
To our demands, they say, bullets and bamboos
Our heroes are lying in graves, it is Kashmir.

We walk with shadows
We talk with meadows
We are deprived of limbs
We are deciphered, Ah! ignored.


They drank from our throats
They kill without reason
We suffer like an innocent on gallows
Ready to be executed
For none of his faults
But to enjoy the Atrocities.