Free Dard Bhari Shayari Examples

I laughed at the joke, I passed the plate, I asked about the weather, I stayed till late. Nobody at the table saw the trick, A smiling face over something sick.

There is a kind of hurt that does not bleed, Does not scream, does not plead. It just sits behind the eyes and waits, And answers fine when someone asks, and hates Itself for lying, and lies again.

My mother asks why I am so quiet these days, I say work, I say tired, I say the usual phrase. She nods, and puts more rice on my plate, The only person who knows, and does not say, and does not wait.

I have a smile for the office, one for the street, One for the family, one for whoever I meet. The real face I keep for the bathroom mirror, At two in the morning, when the pain is clearer.

Nobody asked, so nobody knew, That is the arrangement, that is what I do. I carry it in a bag that looks light, And set it down only at night.

You can be in a room of a hundred and still be alone, You can be on a call and still be on your own. The pain does not need silence to speak, It just needs a face that has learned to be meek.

Some wounds are polite, they never show, They wait for the guests to go. Then they come out, sit on the bed, And say the things nobody said.

I am not okay, but I am functioning, Eating, walking, answering, something. If you look close there is a crack in the glass, But nobody looks close, so I pass.

The fan turns, the clock ticks, the phone stays dark, I have counted every sound in this small ark. No one is coming, and I know it well, Still I leave the door unlocked, just in case, just to tell.

I cook for one and set out two plates, Old habit, or hope, one of those states. Then I eat from one and wash them both, And call it dinner, and call it growth.

The city is loud and I am in it, A thousand horns every minute. And still, on the bus, in the crowd, in the street, I am the emptiest seat.

Loneliness is not an empty room, It is a full one where nobody knows your gloom. It is the birthday with forty guests, And no one who asks how your heart rests.

I talk to the plant, I talk to the wall, I talk to the ceiling when the night is tall. They are good listeners, they never leave, But they never answer, and that is what I grieve.

There is no one to tell about the small things, The stray dog, the dropped keys, the way the bell rings. So the small things pile up inside my chest, Until they are not small, and I cannot rest.

I scroll through names I could call at this hour, Each one a maybe, each one a sour Reminder that I let them all slide, Now the phone is full and there is no one inside.

The heart is not glass, it does not shatter clean, It tears like cloth, slow, in between The ordinary hours, the chai, the work, Until one day you notice it does not smirk Anymore, at anything.

I gave you the part of me that does not heal, The soft part, the part that can feel. You took it, and left, and now I walk With a hole where I used to talk.

Every love song is a lie or a knife, Either it is not true, or it is my life. I turned the radio off last week, Now the silence is the only one who can speak.

You did not break my heart, you just left it On a shelf where the dust could get it. I took it down, it still worked, mostly, Just a little slower, a little more ghostly.

They say time heals, but they never say when, I have counted every hour, again and again. The hours pass, the hurt does not, It just changes shape, like a knot.

I loved you the way a poor man loves rain, With everything, and no umbrella for the pain. You were a season, and seasons pass, I was the field, and I am still grass.

There is a photo of us I cannot delete, You are laughing, I am looking at my feet. Even then, I think, some part of me knew Which one of us would be the one to see it through.

Papa lost his job the week I got in, He smiled at the letter, then stepped out for a minute. I heard him from the balcony, quiet, alone, That sound is the loudest thing I have known.

The bill came, the rent came, the fever came, All in one week, none of them to blame. I paid what I could and cried at what I could not, Life is a shop where the change is what you have got.

I did not get the job, I did not get the girl, I did not get the year I asked from the world. I got a lesson, they say, I got wise, But wisdom does not pay rent, or dry eyes.

My grandmother forgot my name last week, She smiled at me the way you smile at the meek Stranger who helps you cross a road, I carried her cup, and I carried the load.

Some wounds come from people, some from the sky, The flood, the fall, the sudden goodbye. You cannot fight the rain, you cannot sue the year, You just stand there, wet, and still here.

I wanted to be a singer, I sell insurance now, I am good at it, I do not know how. Sometimes in the car I still sing loud, Then wipe my face before I meet the crowd.

There was a boy who believed the world was kind, I see him sometimes, in the back of my mind. He is waving, still hopeful, still young, I wave back, and swallow my tongue.

Nobody cries at noon, it is always at three, When the house is asleep and the dark is free. The pillow knows, the pillow keeps, Everything the daylight never sees or weeps.

I turned the fan up so no one would hear, That is how I have cried for a year. Loud machine, quiet mouth, wet face, And a morning that pretends there was no trace.

The tears do not ask permission, they arrive Like a guest who knows you are alive And alone, and has brought nothing but time, And sits with you till the birds begin their climb.

I cried in the shower, so the water would take it, I cried in the car, so the horn would break it. I cried in bed with my face to the wall, And the wall, as always, said nothing at all.

Tonight the ceiling is a screen, Replaying everything that has been. I watch it with wet eyes, no sound, Until the sun comes and I am found.

There is a salt on my pillow that does not wash, A map of nights, a quiet slosh Of everything I did not say by day, The pillow keeps it, and I keep it that way.

Dard wo nahi jo aankhon se beh jaaye, Dard wo hai jo muskurahat ke peeche reh jaaye. Log poochte hain kaise ho, hum kehte hain theek, Aur andar ek shehar jal raha hota hai, chupke, bina kisi ke.

Raat ke teen baje, takiya geela hai, Subah ke saat baje, chehra dheela hai. Din bhar kaam, raat bhar sawaal, Koi pooche toh bas ek jawaab: sab theek, sab kamaal.

Tanhai bhi ab dost ban gayi hai, Baithi rehti hai saath, kuch kehti nahi. Jo log the wo chale gaye, Jo reh gayi wo sirf yehi hai, aur ye jaati nahi.

Toota dil bhi dhadakta hai, ye ajeeb baat hai, Saans bhi chalti hai, ye bhi koi saugaat hai. Bas subah ka intezaar nahi hota, Aur raat khatam nahi hoti, yahi baat hai.

Kuch zakhm waqt nahi bharta, Waqt bas unpe dhool chadha deta hai. Jab koi purani baat chhed de, Wahi dhool aankhon mein utar aati hai.

Jise sab se zyada chaha, usi ne sab se zyada rulaya, Jise kabhi socha nahi, usi ne sahara banaya. Zindagi ka hisaab ulta hi rehta hai, Jo dua mein tha, wo kabhi haath nahi aaya.

Papa ne kabhi apna dard nahi bataya, Bas raat ko chhat pe akela tehalta paya. Aaj main bhi wahi chhat, wahi raat, Samajh aaya dard virasat mein bhi aata hai, ye baat.