I did not fail—
I only fell.
For what is falling
But a lesson written in dust,
A whisper from the earth saying:
“Rise, and know yourself again.”
The ground is no grave to me;
It is the page where my courage is written,
The silence where my strength begins to sing.
Not because I am unbroken,
But because I refuse to stay broken.
Not because the world applauds me,
But because I whispered “again”
When everything inside me screamed “enough.”
Every stumble teaches me
That triumph is not in never breaking,
But in gathering my scattered pieces
And standing taller than before.
If I fall a hundred times
Yet rise a hundred and one,
Tell me—have I lost,
Or have I not conquered the night itself?
For defeat belongs only to those
Who choose to stay in the shadows.
But I—
I will rise,
I will walk,
I will climb again.
And when they ask,
“Did you fail?”
I shall answer:
“No—
I only fell.
And every time I rose,
I won.”

– Maroof Mushtaq

The night was thick — like sorrow pressed in air,
And the one she trusted… simply wasn’t there.
She’d held on long in storms that bent her frame,
But love, she learned, can wear another name.

She was the quiet kind — the kind who stays,
Who folds her pain and moves through days.
But even oceans meet the shore,
And even patience can take no more.

She stood alone in that cruel-lit room,
Each stare a verdict, each word a tomb.
No hands reached out, no voices kind —
Just echoes of what she left behind.

They thought she’d fight, scream, curse the skies,
But grief moves soft — it breaks, then hides.
They never saw the war within —
The silent wounds beneath her skin.

He said, “She was forced on me,”
A wound too cruel for memory.
She had crossed storms to reach his side,
Fought against odds, swallowed her pride.

She wore his name like armor proud,
But he stood quiet among the crowd.
When the world turned cruel with judging stares,
She searched for him — but he wasn’t there.

She didn’t look for rescue’s hand,
Just to see one truth still stand.
But he turned away and let her fall,
Let shame and slander build the wall.

He rose — not strong, not brave, not true —
But to destroy what once he knew.
He let them speak, he let them scorn,
Forgot the vows, the love, the morn.

She knelt for him in faith and flame,
And all she earned was loss and blame.
Not weak — no, never that — but real,
She only ever asked one shield.

Now she walks — not loud, not proud,
But wrapped in strength they never allowed.
Her scars run clean, her steps are slow,
And there’s a light they’ll never know.

For love, when true, will take your hand,
Will speak when silence scars the land.
It stands beside when days grow grim —
It doesn’t vanish
When it’s her instead of him.

– Maroof Mushtaq

Life owes us nothing—
Not the sunrise we pray for,
Not the hand we reach to hold.
It moves like a river—cold or kind—
Never pausing to ask if we are ready.
I walk through crowded places
With the silence of an old wound.
Faces blur—smiles, shadows—
All strangers to my story.
But maybe that’s why I wander:
Not to find something new,
But to forget what stayed.
The past clings like rain
That refuses to dry.
And though I’ve tried to leave it behind,
It finds me still—
In songs,
In smells,
In laughter not meant for me.
There’s no map for the lost,
No compass for the heart.
Only steps—one after another—
Toward anywhere but where it hurts.
Still, in the drifting,
I sometimes long to meet kindness:
A glance,
A word,
A soul just as bruised.
And for a breath,
I believe
“I don’t stay long—
Not in places,
Not in their hearts.”
I’ve made a home in the quiet corners of joy,
where my name is never called.
I live like an echo—
close enough to beauty,
but never belonging to the sound.

– Maroof Mushtaq

You can’t stop winners from winning, they say—
For even in night, they carve out the day.
When storms scream loud and skies turn black,
They still find strength to walk the track.

You can’t break souls that choose to rise,
Even when hope is thin as lies.
They fall like rain, yet bloom like spring,
And turn each scar into a wing.

You can chain their feet, bind their hands,
But still they dream of brighter lands.
For fire lives in their quiet chest,
And never bows to fate or rest.

They lose, they cry, they ache, they bend,
But never let the fight just end.
Each “no” becomes a deeper “why,”
Each tear—a torch they hold up high.

They are not loud with pride or boast,
They rise where others give up most.
The crown they wear is not of gold,
But forged in courage, fierce and bold.

Try to stop them, if you dare—
They’ll turn your wall to open air.
For winning isn’t just a game,
It’s a soul that won’t die out in flame.

You cannot stop the truth that lives
In those who taste both dust and sky.
The ones who give, and give, and give,
Are made to rise—not made to die.

You cannot stop the soul within—
They’ll walk the paths you fear to change.
You cannot stop a will to win;
Call them dreamers, fools, or strange.


– Maroof Mushtaq

They walk alone through crowded streets,
Their hearts beat wild in broken beats.
The misfits born in silent storms,
Who never fit the common forms.

The rebels, marked by fire and grace,
Who wear no mask upon their face.
They do not bow to rusted rules,
Nor drown their light in halls of fools.

They speak the thoughts the world won’t say,
And dream aloud in the light of day.
Their minds are maps to unseen skies—
They dare to ask the hows and whys.

The round pegs, bruised by every wall,
Who rise again from every fall.
Though mocked for paths that twist and stray,
They blaze ahead, they make their way.

You may not love their voice or view,
You may resist the truths they knew.
But still, they move the stones of time,
And write in stars what once was rhyme.

Where others see a locked, closed door,
They see a chance to build much more.
A better world, a deeper truth—
A call to soul, a spark for youth.

Those called “mad” with fire in eyes
May be the seers in disguise.
And in their chaos, pain, and fight—
The world leans gently toward the light.

So call them names or praise them high—
Still, they will touch the edge of the sky.
For only those who dare to try
Can teach the world how to fly.


– Maroof Mushtaq

Don’t rush to speak in every crowd,
Not every ear deserves your sound.
The sun still shines behind the clouds,
Though shadows whisper all around.

Don’t prove yourself to every eye—
Not every gaze sees truth in sky.
The diamond does not plead with dust,
Nor eagles stoop for sparrows’ trust.

You are not made for every race;
Not every path deserves your stride.
A cheetah keeps its sacred pace,
Unmoved by noise, untouched by pride.

Why waste your roar on minds so small—
That only bark but never call
To deeper thought, or soul, or dream?
Just noise that fades like a shallow stream.

Let barking fill the narrow street,
Let restless feet chase after wind.
You bear a silence, deep, complete,
Where strength and stillness softly blend.

The world may shout, “Come prove your name!”
But not all thrones are worth the seat.
To fight for fame is not the same
As walking calm with quiet feet.

You are not made for every crowd,
Nor meant to echo voices loud.
The stars don’t blink for empty cheer—
They shine because their light is clear.

Hold your fire, hold your grace.
You do not need to roar or run.
Some battles cheapen what you face—
And you were born beneath the sun.

No need to stoop to win their nod.
You carry truth they’ll never see.
A cheetah doesn’t race with dogs—
It waits to run where cheetahs run free.


– Maroof Mushtaq

Beneath the weight of shattered skies,
Where once my dreams took flight and soared,
I stand alone with sobbing eyes,
Wondering who I am, what I’ve ignored.

The world may scorn and leave me cold,
A whisper lost in winds of doubt,
The heart once bold, now slow and old,
A fragile soul who shouts but shouts without.

Where is the light that filled my veins?
Where are the hopes that once did sing?
Now silence reigns where joy once remained,
A forgotten tune upon a broken string.

I question what the purpose is,
If I am meant to fall and fade.
What is this life, this fleeting kiss,
An “evanescent spark,” then quickly laid?

But in the depths of this despair,
When shadows twist and hope feels weak,
A whisper rises, soft yet rare,
A voice of truth I long to seek.

“If God is for you, child, stand tall,
No man, no storm can break your will.
The world may rise and make you fall,
But My love remains, unshaken still.”

So, I rise once more, a tear-streaked face,
And let the winds of fear subside.
For though the road seems full of grace,
My heart knows where my strength resides.

It’s not in what the world may say,
Not in the scars that mark my soul,
But in the love that lights my way,
The love that makes this broken whole.

I let them mock, let them speak,
Their words like dust beneath my feet.
For in my heart, I’ll never be weak,
For God is with me, I am complete.

If God is for me, who dares to stand?
My spirit, no one can shake.
With Him beside me, I will withstand—
The world may crumble, fall, and break.

– Maroof Mushtaq

When shadows fall, and the night is steep,
When silence drowns where courage sleeps,
A spark awakens, faint and shy,
A whisper echoes: “Try. Just try.”

The earth may quake beneath the feet,
Dreams may shatter, hopes retreat.
Yet in the heart where burdens press,
A seed of strength begins to bless.

The champion rises, not with ease,
But with trembling limbs and bent knees.
Not in triumph’s gilded gleam,
But in the midst of a broken dream.

What fire burns within the soul,
That makes the fractured spirit whole?
Not glory’s call, nor victory’s cheer,
But the will to fight through pain and fear.

To stand again, though skies are gray,
To face the storm, though blown away.
The champion finds, in every fall,
The courage to defy it all.

For battles fought within the heart,
Are victories drawn from a tearful start.
And though the world may never see,
The rise begins invisibly.

They are not of gilded throne,
Nor carved of stone, nor steel alone.
They are stitched from the fabric of endless fight,
Woven with tears in the heart of the night.

Let not the world measure what you can or can’t,
For the soul of a champion is ever adamant.
They get up, they rise, through tears that flow,
Not because they can, but because they know:
“To stand once more, even when faced with a great fall,
Is the mightiest triumph of them all.”

So rise, O weary, rise once more,
From shattered glass, to find your shore.
For champions bloom where they have bled,
In broken soil where angels tread.

A champion rises, not from mere might,
But from the shadows that cradle the night.
When the weight of the world pins them to the floor,
They find in their soul an unspoken “More”

And though the weight may crush and bind,
There lives in you a will refined.
To stand, though broken – this is grace:
A champion’s mark, a warrior’s face.

– Maroof Mushtaq

You must love poetry to be my man,

For my heart speaks in verses only the wild ones understand.  

In whispers of winds that dance through trees,  

And the hum of oceans that kiss the breeze.  

It’s true, love breathes beyond ink and page,  

Yet in the silence between, I find a stage—  

A place where hearts are not just known but felt,  

Where love is more than words, where souls have knelt.  

For I am woven of stardust and sighs,  

Of dreams too deep to meet the eye.  

In the shadows where the night sky bends,  

I crave words where meaning never ends.  

You see, I am a song that demands to be sung,  

A mystery in every breath I’ve flung.  

While love is a fire, warm and true,  

In a lyrical flame, I burn through and through.  

You must match the depth where my feelings dwell,  

Hear the secrets that no voice can tell.  

For I am not just a story waiting to be read,  

I am the ink, the parchment, the words unsaid.  

Yes, you must love poetry, my dear,  

Not in words alone but in how you hear,  

For to hold my hand is to hold the sky—  

And only a poetic heart can truly try.  

For I am more than a body, more than a face,  

I am the verse you cannot erase.  

If you seek my heart, you must know this too—  

To be my man, you must love poetry, like I do.


-Maroof