Poems by Shahnaz Parveen

Poems by Shahnaz Parveen


Far many days ago, with a fistful dream in hand, I had been inclined into a deep slumber.
Many span of periods, many ages passed by this time,- all that I could not remember at all.
Today, when my deep sleep broken, looking at my tattered, decayed palm, I feel so sympathized.
Water of many rivers, many fountains already flown downstream.
Mosses and creeper-shrubs gradually turned into a deep, vast green wood by now.
I come to feel that all my dreams already got emerged into life now.
To witness the outward world, they all are just tossing to die.
Slowly, when I opened the fist of my palm, I witness there with utter surprise –
A swarm of colorful butterflies opening their wings to fly in the sky amidst the flow of glittered light.
But, I know well that they will one day surely come back to my green avenues just loving this world very much.
Indeed, life is too short where as it’s dreams are always countless.


We delay much in all our acts and affairs.
Too much follies lead us to spoil time.
Suddenly, our time stands face to face with the Sun setting down.

Indeed, laziness captures us when time comes to Handover seeds and fertilizers to our peasants. By then, It is too much delayed !

The child with flowers in hand who gets down in the street-procession, we make too late to handover ” Alphabetic book” to him practically.

Placing his hand on the electronic button, the young guy who gets drowned in darkness with the beckoning of blue-shark, we make much late to return him back to the green courtyard.

In fact, we make much haste in all our affairs, – everything comes down to bottom before we can grasp that thing in the right way.

We make hurry doing something this and that way but finally when time strikes twelve we can not even finish that assignment,- stay late as usual.

This way, at last hours of the course of our life, when think back once, find that we could not finally love someone much strongly. Really become disappointed at this in mind.
We delay much in all our acts and affairs.


This is the story of an unexposed dweller of cave.
Who kindles light to that of his necessity of time only
By scrubbing stone-pieces together.
For rest of the time he rears an obscure gloom.
He can’t turn back to his wild life anymore
Where most valuable wealths of nature still stacked well in abundance
Where written page after page the stories of True human life
Even a palm-full sunshine brings a lot of Irresistible dreams there
Brings spark of light through peep-holes of the green
For him, he can’t even witness those prolong shades at noon
He never knows that the setting sun on the skyline too wept for him once.