My Renaissance

I lived like thou,images

a life, but no quarry

a soul so freakish

And a body so Repose


A Boy Wild about Wild,

Dead of ambitions,

With no thought of Life

Thee called me Yokul.


Was insensitive to incidents around,

took no cognizance of Life and Death,

knew no of Freedom……

And of the Flying birds


Caged was my mind

As were the Nightingales.

Drunk was I, high on cognac,

Cold inside, a mute dweeb.


Lately did it happen

That an Angel passed me by

Singing an Elegy that

made me cry…


It woke me up

from a slumber of lie.

The song lamented,

an old man’s Sigh


Whose only son disappeared in the Sky

for he was killed while catching a fly.

The man’s grief was so high

that the silent tears caused him an eye.


The Angel left a mark in my heart,

of conscience and Pity…..

A life to my wayward body,

of soul and wily,,,,,


It inflicted in me a new enthusiasm

of listening to thy grief,

And empathize with thee

the gleam of thy heart and the cry of thee soul.


My heart could behold none

Hence I began spewing my Spirit.

With the flow of a River

I began to break the Lull.


Marking my Poetic Renaissance

I laced into a Poet’s throat,

Accoutred with a skilled hand

I started pouring out my thought.

…………………………………………………………Ikram Ullah

Published By- The Kashmir Walla on March 07,2012, Panaroma Zine on March 19, 2012 and on


Published by


Researcher in Chromatin Biology. Science/Politics. Words for @ForeignPolicy @etribune @GreaterKashmir

6 thoughts on “My Renaissance”

  1. comprendo el dolor de no estar con los amados
    la muerte,,

    no entiendo la muerte violenta
    no la he padecido

    me solidarizo contigo

    pero como dices
    siempre habra angeles,

    ahora es tiempo que tus palabras
    sirvan par aliviarte
    para traernos imagenes
    de lo que hay en
    tu espiritu
    en tu pensamiento

    compartir emociones
    gracias a la palabra oral escrita…

    1. Thanks a lot Cecilia for your valuable remarks, to me emotions and feelings are somewhat entangled in a prism of solitude, as long as you hold them you feel that lump in your throat and pouring them out in writing relieves my heart.

      Muchas gracias Cecilia por sus observaciones valiosas, que me las emociones y los sentimientos son un poco enredados en un prisma de la soledad, el tiempo que ellos tienen que sentir que nudo en la garganta y verterlos por escrito alivia mi corazón.

  2. si, al escribir uno alivia el alma.
    tienes una manera de expresarte poeticamente, (prisma de soledades)… me gusta

    pero mas aprecio tu sensibilidad para el dolor ajeno,
    te felicito por expresar lo que muchos callan o no pudieron o no pueden hablar
    joven valioso…

    un abrazo desde M[exico…

  3. Man’s soul and mind is boundless, it breaks all the shackles and barriers, thus we happen to imagine. Imagination leads to innovation and Human mental capabilities are can reach him to light . The words provide him the way and the will provides him power.

    El alma del hombre y de la mente no tiene límites, rompe todas las trabas y barreras, lo que nos toca imaginar. La imaginación lleva a la innovación y las capacidades mentales humanos se puede llegar a él a la luz. Las palabras que le proporcionen el camino y la voluntad le proporciona el poder.

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