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.

My Pliable Clay

A harmony of hues I see from my tent
in the far off land having infinite sphere;
There sparked the azure sky a thunderbolt
I hailed the holy attic from my mortal vault.

Ambient cosmic glaze has tinted everything
my humble abode and my mean belongings;
This place I call it – a home, it’s my nook
here peace is treasured as an heirloom.

From this toned canvas house of mine
I see ahead myriad mysteries of life;
It’s an institution of learning, a place to ponder
where one can disjoin creation and creator.

A balm to the soul is my canopy’s springtime
where I discern an ornate mode from a hermit’s life,
where spring flows through fields and caverns,
And fair sunshine falls on garnets and gravels.

My pliable heart is the king of this wilderness.
The undisputed king of this land, here it rules!
I swear, it’s a wicker work of my pliable clay
who alongwith simple joys has played its medley.

Copyright © DrNikhat Bano May 2020 All rights reserved

The Year Of Redeemer

Would love to wait for him on one odd New Year,
who’ll walk with us as a cherished redeemer;
To free us forever from a life of vice and vanity
Making us cosmic citizens of peace and dignity.

All year long in an erroneous war torn world,
I live restless in a house of shiny sand of gold;
Where demons dwell, roam free on this earth,
just to satiate thirst, for power, wealth and lust.

Hoping for a new dawn I often escape in space,
to get a glimpse of my Lord, to have some solace;
To know my people and to gauge their motives,
to know my world and its beauties and beasts.

They say these are the end times we’re living in,
where minor signs are leaving, major signs are nearing;
Prophecies of the doomsday are before our eyes,
when the wrongs are adored and evils are idolized.

The second coming of Messiah is on the way,
With God’s messenger the new year will be on that day;
Pious and impious will be gathered on that Day,
this is my God’s plan and will happen one day.

The Devil and the Guided-one will be the fighters,
and in that battle the persecutor will be the victor;
Then the redeemer (PBUH) wins with justice and truth,
will fill the hearts of disbelievers with mercy and ruth.

Copyright © December 2019 DrNikhat Bano All rights reserved

With You, Without You

Without crossing the groundsill,
without dropping the bounties,
standing in your roofless house,
my eyes are watching arid clouds.

The bloom of youth no longer blooms,
has lost fragrance in your absence;
With some hope still in my heart and
an eternal wait in fate, I’m in your land.

But surely, the wind is in my favour,
this sky with open arms harbours;
They never block my path leading to you
nor abandons me and my search for you.

A wait so primal but so pristine,
a longing so tiring still clinging;
In an endless procession of nothingness,
one’s absence becomes one’s presence.

Copyright © November 2019 DrNikhat Bano All rights reservedff

The Gossamer Gown Of Yours

It was the gossamer gown of yours
that led me to write myriad lores;
When I looked through your silken veil
saw a chuting prismatic fairy tale.

A trek leading to your crystal tiara,
I named it Eden after your crown’s flora;
Then I climbed up to your neat hair vine,
there I saw a beauty as a maiden bride.

For me, you’re a raw gem waiting for a tambourer,
who’ll do on you filigree with wires gold and silver;
For them you’re just a chunk of glass, but you’re
for me, a jewel in a gold foil to be worn by Kaiser.

All heavily appliqued and densely beaded work
in other’s fabric of life, won’t lessen your shine any;
If those are polished, rightly placed diamonds
you are a virgin beauty, for which, others envy.

Copyright © October 2019 DrNikhat Bano All rights reserved

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.