A profound allegorical poem exploring the transformative power of patience through the metaphor of a mystical, unreachable door adorned with precious gems and ancient symbols. This inspirational verse contrasts the failures of those who approach life’s greatest challenges with force, courage, or status against the quiet triumph of one who possesses patience as their only weapon.
There once was a door, beautiful and old,
of mahogany, silver, glittering gems, and gold
Out of reach forever, for both,
the most courageous and the very bold
Carved delicately, with all the symbols so mystic,
spinning and telling tales, both lively and tragic
Within that door, throbbed a warm heart,
but cold to touch, it was just magic
So many approached this formidable door,
the king and the beggar, the priest and the whore
So many returned from the cruel threshold,
walking on trembling feet, crawling on the floor
They came back with heavy hearts and sad eyes,
broken egos, burdened souls, and anguished cries
Lost forever within their dark regret,
they came back without gains, without a prize
Then came the one, a true soul and heart,
he was no warrior, patience, his only art
He was the one who dared to knock,
the door finally opened, not fully but in part
For finding the door, he feels so proud,
and knocking on it, he smiled and bowed
So lucky that the door chose to open,
but the quest remains, he secretly avowed
He may be called in or he may be told to wait,
either way for him, it would be great
He has the requisite patience; he has what it takes,
A powerful metaphorical poem that maps the spiritual journey from isolation and struggle toward enlightenment and self-understanding. Through vivid imagery of storms, hidden doors, and eternal knowledge, this inspirational verse explores the transformative path beyond life’s difficulties. The poem presents a progressive journey through four stages: confronting loneliness, facing life’s storms, seeking hidden wisdom, and ultimately finding pure understanding and self-realization.
A haunting narrative poem exploring the eternal struggle between light and darkness within the human soul. This introspective piece delves into themes of moral duality, spiritual conflict, and the coexistence of prophet and devil in one person. Through vivid imagery of pain, redemption, and self-reflection, the poem examines how opposing forces of kindness and temptation shape our existence. Perfect for readers seeking deep philosophical poetry about human nature, internal battles, and the complex relationship between good and evil that defines the human experience.
Constantly walking down a dark alley of pain,
a cold path, leading to no loss and no real gain
He walks alone; he has always been walking alone,
each step is an agony, but he doesn’t groan or moan
He stops for a moment to take a tired breath;
thinking of his sad existence and a pitiful death
He sees a man sitting and leaning forward,
he doesn’t move, his posture so awkward
Brains blown out, there is silence in the hall,
no commotion, just blood splashed on the wall
His dead eyes, motionless, clouded and sallow,
that man is him, a life so deep and a death so shallow
Who were you really? He asks the dead man,
What did you really want? What was your clan?
Pulls onto his own hair matted with blood and brain,
he sees himself smile, though in actual he is slain
I was the product of imagination, the darkest of them all,
pain, sorrow, and suffering, an amalgamation of them all
Slowly cooked and roasted upon the fire of circumstances,
I took every risk and I availed all the chances
I hung myself all through my life, on the cross of desire,
my guilt and my regrets, lighting a damn big fire
My body laughed so hard, while my soul slowly bled,
the nails of remorse drawing blood, dark and red
I wore the crown of pleasure, dancing the dance of senses,
each conquest was glory, no qualms, no mending fences
But it was a crown of thorns, my soul writhed in pain,
and on the cross of desire, my character was finally slain
I was a prophet, I was the devil, the contrast burnt so bright,
the devil on the left always, and the prophet on the right
Kindness was the prophet’s domain; he ruled it so well,
sensuality was the devil’s game; he played it in hell
The prophet held hands and fanned the flames of life,
the devil played his flute and sharpened his sinful knife
The prophet bowed in humility, acknowledging his bounds,
the devil laughed in shadows and made his daily rounds
They were opposite in nature, but they shared a core,
crying over a broken heart, weeping for a whore
But when tired of crying, they both walked the earth,
in search of some joy, in search of some mirth
The devil broke some hearts, the prophet mended souls,
the devil stole some dreams, the prophet filled some holes
The devil caused some chaos, the prophet preached some order,
but the prophet stayed behind, while the devil crossed the border
Then they both sat together and wept and cried some more,
the prophet on his throne and the devil on the floor
The prophet told the devil that they had different fates,
the devil smiled and offered, ‘No, we are soul mates’
The dead fell silent and chose to speak no more,
he only thought in silence, shaken to the core
There was a dichotomy, though he always knew,
that it was no stark, he had no clue
He was two, not one, that was the only fact,
the prophet and the devil, it was a strange pact
He looked ahead and started to walk again,
the prophet and the devil, in the dark alley of pain
Shehryar khawar 