Rahat Indori, ‘I’m going to write on my funeral friends, love is going to happen’; Rahat Indori passed away a year ago from among us Rahat Indori death anniversary shayari of Rahat Indori read here

Rahat Indori Death Anniversary: Today is the first death anniversary of well-known poet and poet Rahat Indore. Born on 1 January 1950 in Indore, Rahat Qureshi was found to be Kovid 19 positive on 10 August last year and was admitted to Aurobindo Hospital, Indore. He died of cardiac arrest the next day on 11 August 2020. Rahat Sahab was very popular among the youth for his poetry. His lion ‘Kisi ke baap ka Hindustan thoda hai’, became very viral on social media. He was called the poet of love.

Read here 10 lions of Rahat Indori …

If you are against, let it happen, life is little, it’s all smoke, some sky is little. If there will be fire, then the house will come in many struggles, here only our house is a little. I know that the enemy is no less but, like us, there is a little life on the palm. Whatever comes out of our mouth is good, you have a little tongue in our mouth. The one who is today Sahib-e-Masnad will not be there tomorrow, the tenant is a small house. Everyone’s blood is included in the soil here, someone’s father has a little Hindustan.
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Who knocked who is on this heart, you are inside, who is outside…

The pastures are being tossed, the wind is being roared. Neither defeat nor victory will be its own, but the coin is being tossed. Look, someone is going on the way to the right, there were already many snakes in the arms, now even a scorpion is being reared. The delusion is being handled with the help of false glasses, we are the stone of foundation but, we are being thrown out of the house. Write me on the funeral, friends, the lover is going.
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Told me the truth was poisoned,
goodies made me guilty

Intermittent people are looking at me,
you published a small thing
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This accident was going to pass someday,
Even if I survived, I would die one day

Easy journey even on hard roads
This seems to be the effect of my mother’s prayers
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Were adamant that I would leave it by making a sun, I had lost my sweat to make a lamp.
In my eyes, that person is not even a man, who has taken the time to make God.
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I can even rob my breath, at his behest, but he considers my every promise as official
I become the identity of every word
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Before the wind begins to make noise, my Allah may make my place
Many dreams surround my eyes, I wish I could sleep for a while
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To bang my stray head, I see your door,
And then show something or not give it, I see the thing of work