A song of a blind bride, English Poetry book by Mr. Zahoor Hussain. Title of book: A song of a blind bride.Poet: Zahoor HussainDepartment of EnglishBaha-ud-Din Zikriya University, Layyah CampusLayyah. Cel# +92 333 763 6787E-mail: zahoor_linguist@yahoo.comEdition: First, December 2016.Publisher: Urdu Sukhan, Art Land, Chowk AzamDistt. Layyah (Punjab). Tel# +92 606 372557Printer: Sher-e-Rabbani Press, MultanTitle: Nasir MalikA smoky morning of December and Sunday means to be in the bed for long hours than the usual routine of life. I was inside the quilt quite awaken someone struck against my bed and I wobbled, peeped outside the quilt-a young lass of hardly ten years old was there. I yelled at my better half to know who she was. She put her finger on her lips and signaled me to be relaxed and said, "She is nearly blind" and I quickly put the quilt over my face and my flight of imagination brought forth the poem, "A song of a Blind Bride." I was so spontaneously moved by the pitch dark pathetic future of the girl that I sobbed inside the quilt and for a long span of time could not let anyone to uncover me.One day while I was riding back on my old bicycle from the class of B.A., English Literature, I saw a young boy of the same size and age of my brother carrying a sack on his soft shoulders. His face was glittering: his cheeks were glowing. I alighted from the bicycle stood there and submitted my complaint to God. And asked many questions but no reply -, I became a child with a sack on my shoulders and was collecting garbage. I was weeping, sobbing but collecting garbage and there came "A song of a Fatherless Child". Still I am asking everyone about this injustice.I am much different person or moved by different things differently and mostly I knowingly and unknowingly enter into different things and persons and resultantly my poems are there. I was once again in my college years studying Tennyson, Browning, Milton and Shakespeare with a keen interest. I think it was the afternoon of a hot summer day, I got tired of sitting under a tree- my best friend of college days and best acquaintance was the gardener of that college. I at once rose up, and started moving rashly. Uunluckily I was to crush a newly blooming plant, and all of a sudden, I re-directed my foot back because I heard the entreaties of that blooming herb, "Why sir, I have no right to grow". Some other day I came back home, my best friend was absent to welcome me, my pet, my brown dog. I got upset and came to know that it was gone. I thought "No more" would come to welcome me at the gate of my home. No more the tongue that used to lick my limbs, no more the tail that used to wag around me. And my flight of imagination, it was not only the different incidence that gave me fruit for thought, that fed my imagination. I am also nostalgic . Flash backs to past are common to me. I once observed closely and minutely a mother being negated to have any food item on credit because the father of the kids was a poor farmer. It was almost a moment of death for the mother, "And She came back". Besides a poet, I am also a teacher of drama and teach Shakespearean dramas. I studied and taught Shakespeare's often quoted unparalleled lines like life is like a walking shadow. And I thought that life is like a balloon air inside and air outside, when it bursts, air goes into air and plastic remains here. Similarly, for me life is like a status on the facebook uploaded, read, commented and then disappeared, life is like a race, life is like a line that joins and divides.