My Sketch Of Super Star-Dharmender❤️🌹❣️🌹❤️

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The main reason for loving him❤️🍁❤️

Dharmender is so much famous for his acting in many movies and specially his He-Man image.❤️💪❤️Now,he is become most old aged but when he was acting then mostly people compered him with Roman God because of his beauty and smartness.I was and still now biggest Fan of him.In the youth,I thought often that he was made for me.I was fall in love with him…..And this Love had saved me other’s love proposals. Ha HA HA….😂😂😂😋😋😋😋😋😊😊😊Thanks God.I could save my own privacy and the grace of an Indian girl.❤️😊❤️🍁😊❤️

Copyright © 2022 Aruna Sharma-all
rights reserved

Love you,my dear Dharmender and thanks for saving me to be infamous in my University’s day❤️❣️🍁❣️❤️

Please, listen a song -fimized on my favourite hero Dharmender💕💕💕❤️🎼🎵🎶❤️💕💕💕

सवाल-ए-दिल कि मलाल-ए-दिल…

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परिंदों की फितरत से आए थे वो मेरे दिल में ,

ज़रा से पंख क्या लगे आशियाना ही छोड़ दिया..!!

जी,वो पंख हमने ही दिये थे
उड़ना भी अपने प्यार को सिखाया हमने था।
गम-ए-दर्द का मारा नादान दिल क्यूँ पूछे
आंगन में इस धोखे को उतारा किसने था।

कुछ हवाओं की गुफ़्तगू..

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बाजू के बगीचे में

चंद मुठ्ठी हवा

पेड़ों की छाँव तले बैठी है।

दरख़्तों की शाखें

अपने अँजुमन में

साँस रोके चुप खड़ी हैं ।

सर्द मौसम की  छुअन

बनकर लहर टीस की

जैसे दोनों के बीच खड़ी है।

कहे हवा-गर तू

साथ दे मेरा चलने का

फिर मुझे क्या पड़ी है।

गुफ़्तगू-ए-जानाँ

सुन दरख़्त की शाखें

शोख़ी से खिलखिला पड़ी है।

अक्सर मेरे गुलिस्ताँ में

यूं दोस्ती हवा संग

दिखे शाखों की फुलझड़ी है।

Aruna Sharma

16.01.2026

A Wonderful Post Is Sent By Marcello Comittni❤🌹🙏🌹❤

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This poem in English is dedicated to MaryAnn Ward
La versione in italiano la trovate sotto quella in inglese. Grazie.
.
IT DOESN’T END HERE

What other mysterious blood
links the verses of a poet to life?
What pains in spirit and flesh
make his days a long autumn?
Like that ripe pomegranate fallen from the branch,
he continues to live, rotting in the earth.
A bird’s beak has split the rind
of his heart, spilling blood.
Mingled with the essences of herbs,
the scent of flowers, the incessant flow of water,
it returns to nourish the tree.
It will make it blossom and bear fruit
in an eternal cycle of metamorphosis
in a boundless field, in a clod of earth
just enough for a stone slab and the epitaph:
“The life of the Poet does not end here”.

NON FINISCE QUI

Quale altro misterioso sangue
lega i versi di un poeta alla vita?
Quali dolori in spirito e carne
fanno dei suoi giorni un lungo autunno?
Come quel melograno maturo caduto dal ramo
continua a vivere in marcescenza nella terra.
Il becco di un uccello ha spaccato la scorza
del suo cuore ne ha sparso sangue.
Mescolato alle essenze delle erbe,
al profumo dei fiori, al fluire incessante delle acque
torna a nutrire l’ albero. Lo farà fiorire e fruttificare
in un ciclo eterno di metamorfosi
in un campo sconfinato, in una zolla di terra
quanto basta a una lastra di pietra e l’ epitaffio:
“Non finisce qui la vita del Poeta”.