By Agha Shahid Ali. Feel the patient’s heart. Pounding—oh please, this once— —JAMES MERRILL. I’ll do what I must if I’m bold in real time. A refugee, I’ll be. Poem Hunter all poems of by Agha Shahid Ali poems. 20 poems of Agha Shahid Ali. Still I Rise, The Road Not Taken, If You Forget Me, Dreams, Annabel Lee. Browse through Agha Shahid Ali’s poems and quotes. 20 poems of Agha Shahid Ali. Still I Rise, The Road Not Taken, If You Forget Me, Dreams, Annabel Lee.

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The (Great) Indian Poetry Project

The century is ending. Those “Houseboat Days in the Vale of Kashmir,” for instance, in ‘ He was so much a poet, in point of fact, that the lover get the better of the poet. Goodreads helps you follow your favorite authors. The beds are of green cedar, fall on them, following this long siege, lie down on the feathers of our dreams. The world is full of paper.

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Leave this field blank. What did they aki He finds no use for the poetry of protest, for the raised voice. And please let me stress in Arabic.

Lambda Literary

The irony of this is that Shahid was not by inclination a political poet. I want to disappear on the map of good intentions, let both hands get stuck in the cookie jar. He died peacefully, in his sleep, at 2 a. What was your relationship with them like? Will I know the waiting boat? Excerpts The Veiled Suite p. In your absence you polished me into the Enemy. If only somehow you could have been mine, what would not have been possible in the world?

I like your necklace. Their wish was we return—forever!

Agha Shahid Ali Quotes (Author of The Country Without a Post Office)

Our pistachios are fresh; eat them. The universe opens its ledger. How did the Enemy love you—with earth? I have to have romance.

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All Quotes Add A Quote. I wish to summon you in defence, but the grave’s damp and cold, now when Malhar longs to stitch the rain, wrap you in its notes: Within the immensity of this bounded space, every line throws open a window that beams a shaft of light across continents, from Amherst to Kashmir, from the hospital of Lenox Hill to the Pir Panjal Pass.


It may not be stored, displayed, published, reproduced, or used for any other purpose. When I return, the colors wn’t be so brilliant. The river wears its skin of light And I trace love’s loss to the origin of light.

His entire presence is imbued with an Indian-ness that transcends political divides. I complete the couplet.

So enter our houses, conquerors, and drink the wine of our mellifluous Mouwashah. The University of Massachusetts Press, As Rita Banerjee writes: Entombed at the centre of this soaring edifice lies his mother: No need to stop the ear to stories rumored in pofms This is history’s bitter arrogance, this moment of the bone’s freedom.

I follow you to the earth’s claw, shouldering time’s shadow.