Mirza Ghalib

Wafa Kaisi Kaha'n Ka Ishq Jab Siir Phodna Thahra
To Phir Ae Sang Dil Tera Hi Sang-e-Aasta'n Kyo'n Ho

Where Do I Go! b Lisa Griffin

Where do I go?
When I'm feeling so lost and I don't want to be found.
When I'm looking and listening for that peace in my heart.
But I know I'll never hear that sound.
Where do I go?
Where do I go when I'm trying to laugh but all I can do I cry?
I'm trying to keep on living because I'm not ready to die.
Where do I go because the sun never seems to shine?
Can you give me my life back it's not yours it's mine?
How do I keep going, how do I fight this fight?
I'm tired of feeling beat down, but I'm trying with all my might!
Where do I go when my head hangs so low?
Please give me an answer because I just don't know!
Where do I go?
Does it take very long?
For me to find that peace and a place where I belong.
I need you to help me, help me to take a stand.
I'm scared to do it by myself, will you please take my hand?
Where do I go? Where do I go? Where do I go?
Do you know?

Even as the fingers of the two hands are equal, so are human beings equal to one another. No one has any right, nor any preference to claim over another. You are brothers.

I died for Beauty — but was scarce

I died for Beauty — but was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining room —

He questioned softly "Why I failed"?
"For Beauty", I replied —
"And I — for Truth — Themself are One —
We Brethren, are", He said —

And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night —
We talked between the Rooms —
Until the Moss had reached our lips —
And covered up — our names —

Weep you no more, sad fountains;

Weep you no more, sad fountains;
What need you flow so fast?
Look how the snowy mountains
Heaven's sun doth gently waste.
But my sun's heavenly eyes
View not your weeping,
That now lies sleeping
Softly, now softly lies
Sleeping.

Sleep is a reconciling,
A rest that peace begets:
Doth not the sun rise smiling
When fair at even he sets?
Rest you then, rest, sad eyes,
Melt not in weeping,
While she lies sleeping
Softly, now softly lies
Sleeping.

Night by William Blake (1757 – 1827)

The sun descending in the west, 
The evening star does shine; 
The birds are silent in their nest. 
And I must seek for mine. 
The moon, like a flower 
In heaven's high bower, 
With silent delight 
Sits and smiles on the night.
Farewell, green fields and happy grove,
Where flocks have took delight:
Where lambs have nibbled, silent move
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen they pour blessing
And joy without ceasing
On each bud and blossom,
And each sleeping bosom.

They look in every thoughtless nest
Where birds are cover'd warm;
They visit caves of every beast,
To keep them all from harm:
If they see any weeping
That should have been sleeping,
They pour sleep on their head,
And sit down by their bed.

When wolves and tigers howl for prey,
They pitying stand and weep,
Seeking to drive their thirst away
And keep them from the sheep.
But, if they rush dreadful,
The angels, most heedful,
Receive each mild spirit,
New worlds to inherit.

And there the lion's ruddy eyes
Shall flow with tears of gold:
And pitying the tender cries,
And walking round the fold:
Saying, 'Wrath, by His meekness,
And, by His health, sickness,
Are driven away
From our immortal day.

'And now beside thee, bleating lamb,
I can lie down and sleep,
Or think on Him who bore thy name,
Graze after thee, and weep.
For, wash'd in life's river,
My bright mane for ever
Shall shine like the gold
As I guard o'er the fold.'

She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek and o'er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,—
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.