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Till the flow

(to stay is to love)


Till the flow

(to stay is to love)

Gowhar Mubarak


Lieper Publication Private Limited

Srinagar, Kashmir, 190003

First Published by Lieper publication 2018

Copyright Gowhar Mubarak (2018)

All Rights Reserved.

This book has been published with all the efforts taken to make the content of this book as error free as possible after the consent of the author. No part of this book shall be used, reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in cases of reviews.

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It gives me inexplicable jubilation to set down

a few words of kudos for Gowhar, pen-named ‘dawningdusk’ for having risen to the highest pedestal of imagination to compile the artistic anthology under the name of ‘Till the flow’.

My ellation and satisfaction goes to its zenith as

I leaf through this magnanimously profilic effort from this little prodigy of 15 whose flight of imagination surpasses many a height of poetic maturity and artistic diction. The compilation

peeps into the metaphysical domains of life, love, relationships, friendship, truth, beauty and goodness with inspirational flow of thoughts that arrests the reader and puts him behind the bars of artistic excellence. The masterpieces do not have regular rhyme scheme but they do posses a regular scheme of unraveling the vistas of vision and thought. As I fall short of vocabulary to express my contentment and joy to hold this piece of pride as Gowhar’s mentor, friend, guide, well-wisher and so much more, I do sincerely cup my hands in prayer that Allah may bestow upon his pen more strength and beauty so that the lovers of art and literature satiate and quench their hunger and thirst by reading through the glorious pages of Dawningdusk. The crown of perfection suits God alone.

Let’s hope and pray that Dawningdusk produces more charisma with the pen and keep shining as a luminous star.

/Tufail. A. Haji/

Fading Autumn

Asks, the sun spots,

A reflected ray of divine bless.

Close! Makes down felt desert of left idle;

Cause the word stress hang,

Shakes of branches,

Falling of chinar,

Handful redness gathers mind.

The silent nests, drops twigs,

Leaves her home,

Comes back her home.

Till-the Flow

Straight were the paths,

If I had not been in the Ghats.

Repartee was I; if I had not been shy.

Such were the talks;

If she could have understood my thoughts.

Regret will she but the time may not be,

Return could I, but then I might be a lie,

At the end, she regrets

At the end, I regret.


The bridge that rumbles the jumble,

Parapet stops falling,

Oh! How narrow is it?

Just, can’t it hold two;

Me and you.

Spring Morning

Piercing arrows gates swiftly,

Crackling the sound in the babbling,

Touching the murmur of the heartily doors.

Entering into the whisper of sunsets,

That ends up making the morning.

The Rhyme of Falling Rain

The rhyme of falling rain,

Two thought of mist, where to lay the lie.

Freezes up the two side on the one,

Turned the felt over, with the velvet of breeze.

Dances the ink in sipping the untold comic tragedy.

Not in her’s love, the singing lullabies of paved corner

But a drizzle of autumnal rain leaves of an accused blame,

Where the showered flows,

Leaves a pathway,

For fable where never would have been the distance.

On the Jhelum

These droopy flows of unbrimmed Jhelum,

Reflect the permanent shikaras of sleeping beauty.

Every lies hope his twig.

Blue appearance on the sleepy wind,

I took the layered canvas to the pottery of fallen pieces.

Sleeps beauty floats water,

Off moving distinctive Jhelum,

Gets my home

To the place;

Where is my home!

Blurred Colors

Peer, out the halved transom, 
existence fades sun;

To blurred colors.

Moony sight it! How do the mists fade?

By the ways it passes, or

By the ways it comes,

Which leaves, no leaf left

For the colors of green.

Brook Murmurs

I am made of layers,

Some prayers, some barriers.

I flow deep and fast,

Moon beam, how vast?

I am not a body river,

I drown the soul!

I am not an ordinary wine,

I am chardonnay of brine fine.

I take colors with me,


I see lies on the banks, a tree.

I love flow,

Which takes the pearls and makes the nightingale glow.

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(Pages 1-10 show above.)