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Lies of night If the tip of a sun doesn't wash your ink away, Then your eye has sinned throw that lamp away, This darkness like a sigh is the sight of an eye, With the rise of a sun comes the news of a night, That which will give a raging fever to your art, For years has to burn like a flame in your heart, Every wood brings change when placed in a pyre, Happy or sad it's bewildered by a fire, Filled with memories are your empty eyes, Full of life but your spirit has died, A night always comes with a dagger in one hand, For those happy boarders of a joyful land, The fire of love burns in those…mehr

Produktbeschreibung
Lies of night If the tip of a sun doesn't wash your ink away, Then your eye has sinned throw that lamp away, This darkness like a sigh is the sight of an eye, With the rise of a sun comes the news of a night, That which will give a raging fever to your art, For years has to burn like a flame in your heart, Every wood brings change when placed in a pyre, Happy or sad it's bewildered by a fire, Filled with memories are your empty eyes, Full of life but your spirit has died, A night always comes with a dagger in one hand, For those happy boarders of a joyful land, The fire of love burns in those parts of hell, Where windows of heaven open to drizzle her smell, And If god lives in heart or so says the Christian man, Then when a heart is broken does he feel the pain? I wrote this poem in fear that should a day come where I have to write a synopsis for this book what will I say? Well, this short poem truly encapsulates my story, words, sentences, and paragraphs don't do justice to art, so "Let the rise of sun be the proof of sun". Poetry has burnt within me for years. This book is about that fire, I believe every single person in the world has an interesting story to tell, but not all can tell an interesting story. Then there are those stories that are both interesting and intense, those stories are really worth telling. While a neurotic can choke on his own intensity, an artist makes a story out of the flesh of his madness. There is not a lot of difference between the two, except the latter is somehow penetr
Autorenporträt
Syed started writing poetry after the 2005 earthquake which left his home town Muzaffarabad Azad Kashmir in ruins, he lost his only sister, home, relatives and close friends at the age of 10. Syed was interested in learning languages, history and philosophy at a young age. He volunteered to work as an editor's assistant for 'Daily Mahasib' "a prominent newspaper in the city of Muzaffarabad AJK" when he was in high school, he says "it proffered him a unique adroitness", to look at one word with a thousand different lenses. Syed is a masterful Urdu poet; he was given a 'Faiz Ahmad Faiz' award in the "AJK literature festival" by the education minister of Muzaffarabad at age 14 for writing a poem on "the freedom of Pakistan". His Urdu and Farsi poems have been published in newspapers all over Pakistan for years, he also writes songs. Syed studied Economics in Pakistan before moving to London to join his family, he then went to college and then university to study law afterwards, he dropped out of Law school to study Psychology instead but the same year at age 22 he was blessed with a daughter, half English and half Pakistani. So, as confusing as his life sounds, he says: "I like to brush it with the paint of there's no place or style of people I haven't yet met, which is the vigorous voyage through which the world has bequeathed its allegories to me". At the moment Syed works many odd jobs in London in pursuit of his dreams. He plans to write more poetry books next and publish his novels.