Author Archives: Nikhat Bano

About Nikhat Bano

I am an ESP (English for Specific Purposes) Instructor by profession. I love to write romantic and spiritual poems and I find a great sense of relief after penning down my thoughts on paper. It has now become a passion for me and will continue as long as I live.

Our Lost Pal

I just saw a word ‘Humanity’
written somewhere here,
O Yes! On a page of our mortal book;
Somewhere right here!

And then it vanished from the sight,
don’t know where?
Might have disappeared
somewhere into the thin air.

Still recall that good book of ours,
O God! Still recall those letters of that
heaviest, mightiest word;
How on earth I lost that word!

It was a byword for peace,
a second word for a lifeline called
universal brotherhood;
It also meant compassion.

O World! Will you help me
to find that lost vital piece of man?
It was a jewel once worn by the wise.
Must’ve met a fatal end, I guess.

Alas! Must’ve been eliminated
and buried in cold blood,
on the orders of the worldling.
Our poor pal was last seen with the virtue.

Copyrights © September 2019, Dr. Nikhat Bano All rights reserved.

Primitive Passion

On the sizzling sand of youth,
you played barefoot;
Unarmed and unmindful of the,
feary blows of time.

I know the thing that kept you alive,
in the heat of your prime;
I know what healed your wounds,
as an icy balm of time.

The passing streams of events,
gave you many intimations;
Of the upcoming harsh realities,
result of your game of passion.

Flowing across you and me,
were desires dancing untamed,
running wild in my nerves,
was my blind love and just pain.

Copyright © September DrNikhat Bano All rights reserved

Crimson Anecdotes

It was an usual place of worship but quaintly strong,
in a quintessential town of my ancestral home;
A mosque not awfully grand but a modest one,
the same maker was revered in both the sanctum.

Frolicking within its calcimined walls, I felt proud,
resting under its whitewashed dome, did astound;
Other than peace, the courtyard had one more beauty,
stood out from neighbouring things dull and measly.

There was a silk-cotton tree markingly sprawled,
as pretty as a crimson patch on a soiled shawl;
Planted near a well in that courtyard, I firmly recall,
its coral shade fell upon devout before every fall.

Memoirs of silk-cotton blooms dangling low,
harks me back in time even now, can see its glow;
I still recall that ordinary place of prayer,
it was close to my heart, it was a house fairer.

Copyright © 2019 DrNikhat Bano All rights reserved
Photo credit: Google

Lighting the Lamps of Love

Let us light up those erased lamps,
which humanity is crying to revamp;
Let us love, shimmer and blink together,
in every clinched fists and brutal grasp.

Let the rays fill the darkest hearts,
let us sell love not sold in the marts;
The supreme creation as we are,
malleable mud is our elemental part.

Universal brotherhood can only shove,
the concept of love and be loved;
Let us kindle our homes with a pious light,
must mind, the noblest charity is to lend love.

Copyright © 2015 DrNikhat Bano All rights reserved

An Unknown Glitterati

Illuminated is the whole arena, phenomenal is the glamour;
Who’s coming tonight? For whom is this fervour?

Stars are studded all along, all are waiting in this barren;
From which direction will he come? What’ll be his path?

Is he a spirit or a human, how could a wanderer know?
In this isolation who’s lighted lamps? Who owns this place?

Often, one’s acumen is valued by the assemblage one keeps;
It’s a fact, even then, lemme know whose gaiety is this?

Light has descended from the chariot of a sapphire evening;
Wearing anklets of rays whose shadow is it? Who’s in my view?

That must be someone’s beloved, must be a glitterati;
Tonight stars will surpass darkness, wonder, whose caravan is it?

Copyright © June 2019 DrNikhat Bano All Rights Reserved

The Grief of a Priest

Buried beneath tonnes of rubble
we were sealed in a sepulchre,
with two more souls lying parallel
once we all three were influential.

Put to rest for thousands of years
safe inside an adorned sarcophagus,
but as a helpless, mortified captive,
lying in that unnoticed and illusive.

My glorious burial in the past slot
was more painful than I thought,
Alas! They tried to make my body immortal
forgetting my soul, the only thing eternal.

After reciting all the Amun-Ra’s prayers
using all the relics of His magical sceptre,
my body was embalmed for the after life
to rise once again to worship sunrise.

In any case, my coffin would’ve been found
with my clay figurine on the sun baked ground,
to let probers claim my lifeless body to ponder;
I wish I’d died as a believer not as a free thinker.

Alas! The self-proclaimed gods of my soil
could only save my body but not my soul;
Wish my king had deterred his reverence,
had appalled me from idolising Himself.

O Amun Ra! In your land I was the poorest of poor
if I knew the truth, hadn’t bowed to a false pursuer;
Wish I’d risen from the dead as an awakened bones,
wish your army had crushed me under your rocks.

Copyright © 2019 DrNikhat Bano All rights reserved.

Where Heaven Lives

I’m eager to know about the life and likings of this abode,
all about their mundane affairs and fancy full scope.

Even the wind seems sedated when it passes through this place,
giving the inmates, some liberty to roam around at their pace.

Let my senses visit this house sailing through its crude lunette,
as it surely has a life-giving spring which has kept it retained.

Or, maybe it has a hidden talisman placed in one of its secret corner,
as I never saw before a supreme harmony of sobriety and fervour.

The charm of this refuge is inevitable, I think I’m fated to adore its glamour,
Never saw before a pure union of stoicism and high-spirited demeanor.

Wish to own a house like this, having love and longing raining on its gable,
I pray, seeing my penchant, the owner sells his house to me, it’s a plea humble.

Copyrights © May 2019 DrNikhat Bano All rights reserved.
Image credit: Google

My Summertime

I’ve treasured a span of life,
for me, which is so dear,
once when I had nothing,
then I was an emperor;
Emptiness ruled my bare feet
and my bare hands,
even felt blessed under
summer’s fiery flashes.

I was rich as I was
with my clan and my tribe,
the ethereal bliss of mine
superseded my earthly life,
that tangy concoction
of average mint and mango,
is going to stay forever
in my heart’s mud patio.

Copyrights © April 2019 Dr. Nikhat Bano All rights reserved

Who’s a Friend, Who’s a Foe, Don’t Know!

In the dust he was lying, unarmed, unescorted,
upon his head my gun was pointed;
I was eager to register my name among patriots,
his body throbbed seeing me in a fight mode.

In an utter agony he made his head rise,
his mystic glance pierced through my eyes;
Those feeble hands made gestures to pause,
finally, my demur stopped my zeal’s flows.

Eager to know what he had to say
in his last lag; What did he wish to convey?
His frail figure and blood smeared face,
were ready to deface my myth and to efface.

The half dead entity was kicked by my boot,
hatred had blackened my heart by soot;
What’s that that he wishes to say at this stage,
seeing his end, I thanked god I wasn’t in his place.

My curiosity for him, made me bend a little,
to hear his crumbling bones unduly brittle;
“What will I lose if I listen to him once” I retorted.
“It’s him, who’s in a sinking boat, not I.” Again, I retorted.

With pain he said, “Why do you wish to kill me, Pal?”
“Ask yourself, putting your hands on your heart;
Do you really know the reason behind your action?”
“Brother, surely you don’t know any sane reason.”

“In your war room if I’m marked as an antagonist,
in my war room, even you’re not a protagonist.”
“I don’t know why I’m being killed.” He chuckled.
On his blood smeared face his pearly teeth sparkled.

Just then a gun shot was heard, echoed in the air,
a soul was seen drifting off leaving earthen sphere;
In that bleak battlefield a deafening silence prevailed then,
a clay toy was seen getting mixed with the soil, lying all broken.

Turning my back, I tried to walk on my staggering feet,
carrying along a question – how to define a victory and a defeat?
A puzzle posed by a dead soldier will always haunt me,
and ask me why I’m into this war, why on a killing spree?

Is this rationale enough that he belonged to an enemy camp?
But I have heard we’re a supreme creation, not a tramp.
In this war torn era, neither the killer knows, why’s he killing,
nor the dying knows why is he being killed?

Copyright © April 2019 DrNikhat Bano All rights reserved

A Prejudiced Union

With great religious fervour and flavour,
a harmonious alliance was solemnised;
When a fairer groom was talk of the town,
and alien gazes watched a coloured bride.

A man from the rank and file got a wife,
who was a rich man’s heiress by surprise;
Once a practicing doctor, but later
her dark tone made her a prole’s bride.

Why do we’ve such deals in our society,
where status is linked with one’s complexion?
Where a fairer sex is no more fairer,
when her soul is wrapped in colouration?

Sadly, complexion is related to gloom?
‘Our dusky beauty was failed by mental cripples.’
Can’t we respect disparity and dissimilarity?
Pray, O Adam’s children! Shun notions filthy little?

Why does complexion bothers us, so much?
When it’s a game of chance everywhere?
How come pigmentation affects one’s soul,
when a soul is exalted by one’s dealings fair?

Let’s remember the words of a messenger (PBUH),
“White people have no superiority over black people,
nor black people have any superiority over whites,
they’ll be reckoned except by piety and self-denial.”

Copyrights © February 2018 DrNikhat Bano All rights reserved.