Skip to main content

When Jasmine Bloomed (A Ballad of Love and Loss) — by A. Asad

When Jasmine Bloomed (A Ballad of Love and Loss) — by A. Asad Introduction In the quiet corners of memory, some stories remain unfinished. “When Jasmine Bloomed” is a ballad of innocent love that bloomed during college days — Delicate, silent, and unforgettable. It’s the story of a love never confessed, a farewell never spoken, and the quiet pain of seeing the one you love belong to someone else. When Jasmine Bloomed — A Ballad by A. Asad When jasmine bloomed along the lane, She walked with books held tight, And every heartbeat spoke her name Then vanished out of sight. Her smile was soft, her voice was low, Like flutes in fading light. I followed where her shadows go, Yet never came to light. She laughed with friends beneath the trees, And sunlight kissed her hair. I watched her pass on winds and breeze— A dream too bright to bear. I never said the words I kept, Just carved them into air. While deep inside, my silence wept A song of sweet despair. She wore a dress the colour flame, With roses in her hair. She looked at me then dropped her gaze — As if she didn’t dare. Her smile was soft, her eyes were wet, Yet silent lips obeyed. Perhaps she loved — but love had debts Her helpless heart repaid. She held her tears, then turned away, As wedding bells grew near. She didn’t speak — but in her gaze, I saw the love and fear. She turned away and hid her face, The bells began to chime. I walked away in silent grace, Out of her world and time. Poet’s Reflection Love is not always about holding on. sometimes, it’s the silent art of letting go, with dignity. She may have left with the world, but you remained with the memory — When jasmine Bloomed. — A. Asad

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

India is Great (Poem) Part -1

 

India is Great (Poem)

Ballad of the Starving Children (Of Gaza) By Abdul Asad

Ballad of the Starving Children (Of Gaza) By Abdul Asad In Gaza’s night, so cold, so wide, A girl named Noor lay down and cried, No food, no light, no lullaby— Just mother's sob and father’s sigh. Her sister Hind, just five years old, Was found beneath the ashes cold. She clutched a piece of bread so tight, She died still hoping for a bite. Sweet Duniyah slept in her father’s chest, A final lullaby for her rest. The bombs had stilled her tiny breath, A cradle turned to dust and death. Another child lay near the stone, No voice, no pulse—just dust and bone. No toy remained, no gentle hand, Just silence in a shattered land. She said, “I saw my sister burn. She screamed for milk, none could return. The bombs don’t care for baby's name. We’re numbers now in hunger’s flames.” Young Yazan held a flag of white, But found no mercy in the night. He died while shielding sister’s head, A child’s last act before he bled. A girl named Layan wiped her tears, She said, “They ...