The good old days don’t last forever, so you must enjoy them now or never.
The good old days go away as quick as a flash, so now make everyday a blast.
Keep on smiling and rhyming have hope even when your mind’s saying nope.
Make everyday give you a fun fever once you’ve followed these steps you will become a believer.
By Fever Radio | Posted on: 23/10/2024
To Radio Asian Fever
A symphony of voices, near and far,
Carried on waves like a guiding star,
Radio Asian Fever, your sound so true,
You weave the world in every hue.
From golden dawns to twilight skies,
You sing the songs of hopes that rise,
Through melodies of East and West,
You play the tunes that stir the best.
Your rhythm flows in every beat,
A bridge of cultures, soft and sweet,
Uniting hearts in every land,
In joy, in love, a gentle hand.
Oh, Radio Asian Fever, bright and bold,
A story through the airwaves told,
No station in this world compares,
To the love you give, the dreams you share.
So here’s to you, the shining light,
That turns the darkest days to bright,
For in your songs, we all can see,
The beauty of our unity.
By Maady | Posted on: 22/10/2024
A Heart Like Home
In her hands, the world feels light,
A steady warmth, a constant bright.
Her voice, a calm in stormy skies,
A gentle love that never dies.
She weaves her days with quiet grace,
A kindness etched upon her face.
With every word, with every care,
She shows us all what love can bear.
Her laughter lifts, her wisdom guides,
Through every tear, she’s by our side.
A heart like home, a place to rest,
In every trial, she loves the best.
No crown or throne, but still a queen,
In every moment, in between.
Her strength is silent, pure, and true—
Mum, the world’s more beautiful with you.
I hope this captures the essence of your mum!
By Aizah hoque (8 years old) | Posted on: 21/10/2024
Waves of Sound
Through the airwaves, far and wide,
Our voices sail, on currents glide.
A signal strong, a beacon bright,
We bring the music, day and night.
From crackling tunes to stories told,
A mix of new and echoes old.
We fill the silence, ease the mind,
With every song, connection find.
Your morning start, your midnight friend,
Our broadcast waves, they never end.
A rhythm pulsing through the air,
We’re always here, we’re always there.
Turn the dial, come tune in close,
To where the heart of music flows.
Your station’s here, where joy is found,
Forever riding waves of sound.
I hope this captures the spirit of your radio station!
By Amin | Posted on: 21/10/2024
Poem about my mum:
A Poem for My Mum
You are the quiet in the storm,
The gentle hand that keeps me warm,
The steady light when days are dim,
The constant heart that beats within.
Your words have built the ground I stand,
Each one a lesson, soft and grand.
In every laugh, in every tear,
You’re the whisper that I hear.
Through all my dreams, your hopes still soar,
You give me courage to seek more.
In your embrace, I find my way,
Your love, my guide, both night and day.
No treasure could I hold above,
The boundless gift of a mother’s love.
For every step and all I do,
The heart of me will always be you.
By Aizah Hoque (8 years old) | Posted on: 21/10/2024
TUNE INTO FEVER RADIO
LISTEN IN YOUR CAR, HOME OR ON THE GO.
TUNE INTO FEVER RADIO
MUSIC TO YOUR EARS
NO NEED FOR A TV.
TUNE INTO FEVER RADIO
THEY'VE BEEN AROUND SINCE THE EARLY 90'S.
TUNE INTO FEVER RADIO
THEY PLAY TIMELESS CLASSICS, THE LATEST TRACKS, REMIXES AND MASHUPS ASWELL AS NEWS ON THE HOUR.
TUNE INTO FEVER RADIO
LISTEN WELL INTO THE NIGHT, UNTIL THE MORNING LIGHT.
TUNE INTO FEVER RADIO
ITS THE WAY FORWARD YAAR.
By Mr Gupta | Posted on: 21/10/2024
Where has time gone… Murmurs of the past linger in the corners of the garden, Chalk-drawn lines and skipping ropes, Where everyone gathered, creating memories in the sun.
We’d play until dark, then rush home for a snack, Running to sit with Dad, sharing his boiled eggs at the table. Evenings meant movies, with the family all near, Finding our spots to settle, often crowded on the floor.
Mum’s cooking wafted, a comforting embrace, Up to bed we’d go, acting out our plays, Singing silly songs together, a fever of joy drifting off to sleep.
Where has the time gone…
Now life is different; we’ve all grown up, Yet we still watch movies, with no room to sit, But laughter breaks through, a joyful echo in the air. We enjoy sunny days, and together we share,
Is life different now? Yes, for Dad is no more, Yet his love still surrounds us, like a warm, guiding light.
But where has time gone?
By A father’s daughter | Posted on: 18/10/2024
When he was a young boy, he would wait for his father to return. Sometimes, he would lie in bed and listen to the sounds of the house: Mother in empty rooms, creaking wood, clanking pipes, churning heating and radiator hums. Cars went by windows, casting lights through curtain cracks. A house full of empty rooms, where only shadows danced.
He would whisper, “I’ll wait forever,” before closing his eyes to sleep. Sometimes, the boy dreamt of soft footsteps in the hall. “Is that the door creaking? “Yes!” He could feel the cold air warm, “and that's my father’s voice—that’s him! Keep your eyes shut. That’s him. Hold on, don’t wake up.” “…It’s like echoes in a still evening, Mommy,” he once said, as a young boy, trying to explain the feelings left by his dreams. “You’re outside, Mommy, and the air is silent, like the world has stopped breathing, and it’s just you alone—do you know what I mean?” She would look down and smile, and he would carry on, beaming, “But it’s a happy alone, it’s not you there dreaming. You’re not looking at you, Mommy—it’s him. It’s not just you alone—it’s the two of you, you see.”
As he grew older, he would often think back to that boy who pretended to be old, tiptoeing taller, rushing to get old. “I think I was trying to be older for my mom,” he concluded. “Using big words, painting big pictures—maybe she thought I was deluded. But sometimes we’d share quiet moments, and maybe she had the same dream. Maybe it wasn’t just him and her there; maybe it was all of us three.”
One day, he asked his mother, “What did Dad smell like?” She smiled and said, “Goldleaf,” He laughed, and she laughed, then she looked away. Seconds ticked, minutes stretched, and silence lingered deep. She finally said, “You’re so much like your dad,” and mused, “Something in the eyes, the brownish hues” Then she asked, “Do you still think about him before you sleep?”
“When I was a boy, I would have given you some airy-fairy response, full of dreams, imagination, and nuance, all those delicate things that boys don’t like to say. But now, it’s simpler—yes, Mom, I do.
I do, every day.”
And though he no longer listened for footsteps in the hall, he’d sometimes stand by the window, staring at nightfall, staring at the sky, looking out to the stars standing tall, still holding a little hope but through wiser eyes he’d learned that fathers sometimes leave and don’t return, but sometimes it’s dreams you hold onto that help you cope yourself to sleep while his footsteps fall in the hall.
By Anonymous | Posted on: 16/10/2024
The poem write by 12 year old boy for the lovely fever fm
" amusement and thrill dances in the air,
We all listen comfortably in our chair.
Fever fm stands tall and proud
just like the listeners in the crowd .
Jabber bai the greatest host,
His elegance and talents are something to be boast.
His voice fills my morning with joy and delight,
His task for roti so true so right.
The greatest joy is when my text is read
Than he plays those songs bouncing in my head.
Recorded in a diverse language mosaic
The atmosphere sweet and supple like the taste of cake
So enjoy the music of Fever fm with chill
Sit back relax and have chill pill
By Subhan Hammad | Posted on: 15/10/2024
A litle Poetry of Our Lovely Jabbly Radio Fever FM
On Fever FM, where the beats never stop,
There's Mr. Jabbar, our boss at the top.
With a laugh that rings and parathas in hand,
He talks education—says it's king of the land.
But don’t let him fool you, he’s scared of his wife,
Yet Fever FM? It’s his love, his life.
Then comes RJ Shahab, oh what a delight,
With his Scottish twang, he lights up the night.
Playing Pakistani tunes every Wednesday with care,
Cracking jokes that bring joy everywhere.
We all love Shahab, he's one of a kind,
His humor and music just blow our mind.
Now, Mr. Woody in the morning light,
With jokes on couples, he's always right.
Early risers tune in for his musical play,
But Fridays are special—nasheeds after Jumma’s day.
His collection of songs is always on point,
Making marriages laugh, he's Fever’s joint.
Banarus Iqbal, oh what a gem,
Punjabi hits, he delivers them.
With a smile so wide, he makes us all beam,
He’s the king of the airwaves, a Punjabi dream.
Then there's DJ Saiqa, aka Lightning Sykes,
With her fiery style, she strikes like a mic.
A rapper, a singer, with passion so rare,
Playing 90s Bollywood with the occasional flair.
But don’t blink, she might throw in her own song,
Saiqa’s the future, where she belongs.
Sumaira Ji—Jee aya nu, how are you?
The Punjabi Queen with a heart so true.
Her tracks leave us dancing, begging for more,
Her laughter, her spirit, we all adore.
Sofia and Shamas, oh how they laugh,
Music and laughter, that’s their craft.
Whatever you ask, they’ll play it with glee,
Sophia’s laugh echoes all day for me.
And let's not forget sweet Mahi’s ch4t,
Bollywood, Lollywood—she’s always at that.
Talking and talking, the days slip away,
But we love every word she has to say.
From Ranoo, Manoo, and every fan in the land,
Fever FM, you're truly grand.
With beats and vibes that make us glow,
Keep shining bright, we love your show!
By Ranoo Manoo | Posted on: 15/10/2024
The heart flutters but why
Was it a happy memory or a cry
The heart flutters again
Is it a fever or is it stress
Has it skipped a beat
or was it running in joy
A silent moment
Lost to the world
No return and never the same again
Until we meet again
The seasons await the start of something new
Little heartbeats that make you smile
Alhamdullilah always for what you have
Flower’s bloom in hope and glory
Fever radio with Sofia and Shamas scenting the air waves with beats and tunes anew
The heart flutters but why
Was surely in happiness and joy
Faster and faster around the clock
Tick tock tick tock
The heart flutters but why…
By Shahnaz | Posted on: 14/10/2024
i email the poetry on shamas@radioasianfever.co.uk, please reply me with the same email that you recived my poetry
By ranno manoo | Posted on: 14/10/2024
Our Home - Summer 2024
The streets are in chaos because “we want our country back.”
While I tell you a story about how our ancestors helped carry the country on its back.
2.5 million helping in a war side by side with the place their future generations would call home.
I can’t imagine the people turning their backs on those helping their own.
33,000 providing care in the NHS,
But it was decided we would leave these people's homes a mess.
The opportunities we have been given,
We will always say thank you,
But please don’t believe we are the issue.
We are strong in our spirit to know that you will one day understand. Our religion is full of peace and harmony, and together we can.
This country has allowed us to fulfill our dreams.
Please don’t believe we are here to take yours.
Forever grateful and living our destiny.
Together we will thrive in unity.
By AH | Posted on: 14/10/2024
The olive tree tell me a tale as old as time,
As old as the earth,
as old as a nation known as it’s beloved Palestine.
This tale tells me a story,
of harmony and peace,
Of the gentle love between friends,
Of the reassuring first cry of a newborn baby that never seems to cease.
The olive tree gets older,
as the years go by,
It‘s tale turns into hardship and loss,
which again, is a story as old as time,
And it tells me instead of the last time a mother hears her baby cry,
A world full of war, horror
a world full of lies.
I ask what happens to the friends,
The olive tree tells me of their tearful discussions,
Of how gleefully chasing their friends in their youth,
Has become chasing their funeral processions.
The olive tree finishes it’s story and weeps,
As it thinks the world is asleep,
And when it’s leaves become fragile and it’s trunk becomes heavy,
with the weight of it’s history,
It chooses to remember it’s beloved Palestine,
And all the nations who think it’s tears are a mystery.
By Simrah | Posted on: 14/10/2024
It was back in July, I emailed Jabbar and said Hi
I’m an aspiring DJ, I love music, don’t say bye
A week later, Roundhay Road, intro to Woody Khan
Ustad Jee, took me under his wing, showed me the Chaar cart
Easy peasy, red button for the mic, blue for YouTube
I said I am ready, send me in please, live on air dude
Woody said come Thursday, system down, major letdown
Come on Monday, if not, I would have had a showdown
Monday came, DJ Alena by my side, I’m nervous as hell
I plough through, 90s classics, I'd like to think I did pretty well
Met my uncle at a wedding, he said well-done Jenab
But talk slower and try to be like RJ Shahab
Salaam to Sumera Jee, Namaste to Pallavi Jee, Sat Sri Akal to Surinder Ji
Yet to meet so many presenters, Mo, Ash, Jaff, Indy, my favorite is DJ Banaris Jee
Came on a Sunday, met Raja Mazhar, very calm, never gets testy
Turns out his sister, Aunty Shaheen from Shipley, is my mum's bestie
60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, two thousands, twenty tens and twenty twenties
So many decades, so many songs, Bollywood, all different varieties
Everytime I come into the office, I see Sofia and Shamas from Clayton
Working at their PCs, another offer from Woody, cup of tea, done
During my show, many flashes, many calls, the usual suspects
How I miss them, when they don’t ring, flash or send their lovely texts
On the hour - news and commercials, another set of commercials on the half hour
They have given me carte blanche, I can play anything, my playlist is like a tower
Before I became a presenter, I listened to Fever, my favorite host was DJ Saiqa Jee
She came to Nawaab once, back in the day, ordered matka kulfi and stole my RAJA CD
I love Fever FM and the lovely little studio; I enjoy my two shifts every week
Please Jabbar Jee, hand to mouth, on the ropes, full time employment is what I truly seek
Thank God I went to the Curry Mela and met Sofia, asked for Jabbar's email address
It was sheer luck, I wanted just one chance, to show I have the skills to truly impress.
By Atif | Posted on: 14/10/2024
To think means to do it intentionally.
I have lost this skill,
For I think without control.
How does one think without control?
How does one not?
It is an ever-fluctuating fever;
It is simply waves crashing over the sand.
And as we stand, we stare;
And once we stare, we glare—
Glare at a world that is no longer there.
We are transported into a cave,
And once in the cave, we begin to fade.
As the dark grey of the walls shifts to deep black,
The colour of entrapment:
Closed,
Silent.
And once we fall into silence, we either paint the black in shades of blue and purple,
Or we lose our ability to see colour forever.
By Inayah | Posted on: 10/10/2024
The good old days don’t last forever, so you must enjoy them now or never.
The good old days go away as quick as a flash, so now make everyday a blast.
Keep on smiling and rhyming have hope even when your mind’s saying nope.
Make everyday give you a fun fever once you’ve followed these steps you will become a believer.
By Qaim Sami (Age 10) | Posted on: 10/10/2024
Love this idea, encourages us to be more creative and move away from all the technology around us nowadays.
A little poem I wrote about graduating during the pandemic.
Here I am six years in the making.
Through a pandemic and a worldwide outbreaking.
Endless late nights and last minute deadlines.
Got my degrees now, names written in headlines.
A jack of all trades is a master of none, how?
Oh well I guess he's a master of one now.
End of Chapter, reached the word count.
On to the future, I hope I surmount.
Poetry Competition - WINNER: QAIM SAMI
POETRY COMPETITION IS NOW CLOSED!
THE WINNER IS QAIM SAMI!
HERE IS HIS WINNING POEM:
The good old days don’t last forever, so you must enjoy them now or never.
The good old days go away as quick as a flash, so now make everyday a blast.
Keep on smiling and rhyming have hope even when your mind’s saying nope.
Make everyday give you a fun fever once you’ve followed these steps you will become a believer.
By Fever Radio | Posted on: 23/10/2024
To Radio Asian Fever
A symphony of voices, near and far,
Carried on waves like a guiding star,
Radio Asian Fever, your sound so true,
You weave the world in every hue.
From golden dawns to twilight skies,
You sing the songs of hopes that rise,
Through melodies of East and West,
You play the tunes that stir the best.
Your rhythm flows in every beat,
A bridge of cultures, soft and sweet,
Uniting hearts in every land,
In joy, in love, a gentle hand.
Oh, Radio Asian Fever, bright and bold,
A story through the airwaves told,
No station in this world compares,
To the love you give, the dreams you share.
So here’s to you, the shining light,
That turns the darkest days to bright,
For in your songs, we all can see,
The beauty of our unity.
By Maady | Posted on: 22/10/2024
A Heart Like Home
In her hands, the world feels light,
A steady warmth, a constant bright.
Her voice, a calm in stormy skies,
A gentle love that never dies.
She weaves her days with quiet grace,
A kindness etched upon her face.
With every word, with every care,
She shows us all what love can bear.
Her laughter lifts, her wisdom guides,
Through every tear, she’s by our side.
A heart like home, a place to rest,
In every trial, she loves the best.
No crown or throne, but still a queen,
In every moment, in between.
Her strength is silent, pure, and true—
Mum, the world’s more beautiful with you.
I hope this captures the essence of your mum!
By Aizah hoque (8 years old) | Posted on: 21/10/2024
Waves of Sound
Through the airwaves, far and wide,
Our voices sail, on currents glide.
A signal strong, a beacon bright,
We bring the music, day and night.
From crackling tunes to stories told,
A mix of new and echoes old.
We fill the silence, ease the mind,
With every song, connection find.
Your morning start, your midnight friend,
Our broadcast waves, they never end.
A rhythm pulsing through the air,
We’re always here, we’re always there.
Turn the dial, come tune in close,
To where the heart of music flows.
Your station’s here, where joy is found,
Forever riding waves of sound.
I hope this captures the spirit of your radio station!
By Amin | Posted on: 21/10/2024
Poem about my mum:
A Poem for My Mum
You are the quiet in the storm,
The gentle hand that keeps me warm,
The steady light when days are dim,
The constant heart that beats within.
Your words have built the ground I stand,
Each one a lesson, soft and grand.
In every laugh, in every tear,
You’re the whisper that I hear.
Through all my dreams, your hopes still soar,
You give me courage to seek more.
In your embrace, I find my way,
Your love, my guide, both night and day.
No treasure could I hold above,
The boundless gift of a mother’s love.
For every step and all I do,
The heart of me will always be you.
By Aizah Hoque (8 years old) | Posted on: 21/10/2024
TUNE INTO FEVER RADIO
LISTEN IN YOUR CAR, HOME OR ON THE GO.
TUNE INTO FEVER RADIO
MUSIC TO YOUR EARS
NO NEED FOR A TV.
TUNE INTO FEVER RADIO
THEY'VE BEEN AROUND SINCE THE EARLY 90'S.
TUNE INTO FEVER RADIO
THEY PLAY TIMELESS CLASSICS, THE LATEST TRACKS, REMIXES AND MASHUPS ASWELL AS NEWS ON THE HOUR.
TUNE INTO FEVER RADIO
LISTEN WELL INTO THE NIGHT, UNTIL THE MORNING LIGHT.
TUNE INTO FEVER RADIO
ITS THE WAY FORWARD YAAR.
By Mr Gupta | Posted on: 21/10/2024
Where has time gone… Murmurs of the past linger in the corners of the garden, Chalk-drawn lines and skipping ropes, Where everyone gathered, creating memories in the sun.
We’d play until dark, then rush home for a snack, Running to sit with Dad, sharing his boiled eggs at the table. Evenings meant movies, with the family all near, Finding our spots to settle, often crowded on the floor.
Mum’s cooking wafted, a comforting embrace, Up to bed we’d go, acting out our plays, Singing silly songs together, a fever of joy drifting off to sleep.
Where has the time gone…
Now life is different; we’ve all grown up, Yet we still watch movies, with no room to sit, But laughter breaks through, a joyful echo in the air. We enjoy sunny days, and together we share,
Is life different now? Yes, for Dad is no more, Yet his love still surrounds us, like a warm, guiding light.
But where has time gone?
By A father’s daughter | Posted on: 18/10/2024
When he was a young boy, he would wait for his father to return. Sometimes, he would lie in bed and listen to the sounds of the house: Mother in empty rooms, creaking wood, clanking pipes, churning heating and radiator hums. Cars went by windows, casting lights through curtain cracks. A house full of empty rooms, where only shadows danced.
He would whisper, “I’ll wait forever,” before closing his eyes to sleep. Sometimes, the boy dreamt of soft footsteps in the hall. “Is that the door creaking? “Yes!” He could feel the cold air warm, “and that's my father’s voice—that’s him! Keep your eyes shut. That’s him. Hold on, don’t wake up.” “…It’s like echoes in a still evening, Mommy,” he once said, as a young boy, trying to explain the feelings left by his dreams. “You’re outside, Mommy, and the air is silent, like the world has stopped breathing, and it’s just you alone—do you know what I mean?” She would look down and smile, and he would carry on, beaming, “But it’s a happy alone, it’s not you there dreaming. You’re not looking at you, Mommy—it’s him. It’s not just you alone—it’s the two of you, you see.”
As he grew older, he would often think back to that boy who pretended to be old, tiptoeing taller, rushing to get old. “I think I was trying to be older for my mom,” he concluded. “Using big words, painting big pictures—maybe she thought I was deluded. But sometimes we’d share quiet moments, and maybe she had the same dream. Maybe it wasn’t just him and her there; maybe it was all of us three.”
One day, he asked his mother, “What did Dad smell like?” She smiled and said, “Goldleaf,” He laughed, and she laughed, then she looked away. Seconds ticked, minutes stretched, and silence lingered deep. She finally said, “You’re so much like your dad,” and mused, “Something in the eyes, the brownish hues” Then she asked, “Do you still think about him before you sleep?”
“When I was a boy, I would have given you some airy-fairy response, full of dreams, imagination, and nuance, all those delicate things that boys don’t like to say. But now, it’s simpler—yes, Mom, I do.
I do, every day.”
And though he no longer listened for footsteps in the hall, he’d sometimes stand by the window, staring at nightfall, staring at the sky, looking out to the stars standing tall, still holding a little hope but through wiser eyes he’d learned that fathers sometimes leave and don’t return, but sometimes it’s dreams you hold onto that help you cope yourself to sleep while his footsteps fall in the hall.
By Anonymous | Posted on: 16/10/2024
The poem write by 12 year old boy for the lovely fever fm
" amusement and thrill dances in the air,
We all listen comfortably in our chair.
Fever fm stands tall and proud
just like the listeners in the crowd .
Jabber bai the greatest host,
His elegance and talents are something to be boast.
His voice fills my morning with joy and delight,
His task for roti so true so right.
The greatest joy is when my text is read
Than he plays those songs bouncing in my head.
Recorded in a diverse language mosaic
The atmosphere sweet and supple like the taste of cake
So enjoy the music of Fever fm with chill
Sit back relax and have chill pill
By Subhan Hammad | Posted on: 15/10/2024
A litle Poetry of Our Lovely Jabbly Radio Fever FM
On Fever FM, where the beats never stop,
There's Mr. Jabbar, our boss at the top.
With a laugh that rings and parathas in hand,
He talks education—says it's king of the land.
But don’t let him fool you, he’s scared of his wife,
Yet Fever FM? It’s his love, his life.
Then comes RJ Shahab, oh what a delight,
With his Scottish twang, he lights up the night.
Playing Pakistani tunes every Wednesday with care,
Cracking jokes that bring joy everywhere.
We all love Shahab, he's one of a kind,
His humor and music just blow our mind.
Now, Mr. Woody in the morning light,
With jokes on couples, he's always right.
Early risers tune in for his musical play,
But Fridays are special—nasheeds after Jumma’s day.
His collection of songs is always on point,
Making marriages laugh, he's Fever’s joint.
Banarus Iqbal, oh what a gem,
Punjabi hits, he delivers them.
With a smile so wide, he makes us all beam,
He’s the king of the airwaves, a Punjabi dream.
Then there's DJ Saiqa, aka Lightning Sykes,
With her fiery style, she strikes like a mic.
A rapper, a singer, with passion so rare,
Playing 90s Bollywood with the occasional flair.
But don’t blink, she might throw in her own song,
Saiqa’s the future, where she belongs.
Sumaira Ji—Jee aya nu, how are you?
The Punjabi Queen with a heart so true.
Her tracks leave us dancing, begging for more,
Her laughter, her spirit, we all adore.
Sofia and Shamas, oh how they laugh,
Music and laughter, that’s their craft.
Whatever you ask, they’ll play it with glee,
Sophia’s laugh echoes all day for me.
And let's not forget sweet Mahi’s ch4t,
Bollywood, Lollywood—she’s always at that.
Talking and talking, the days slip away,
But we love every word she has to say.
From Ranoo, Manoo, and every fan in the land,
Fever FM, you're truly grand.
With beats and vibes that make us glow,
Keep shining bright, we love your show!
By Ranoo Manoo | Posted on: 15/10/2024
The heart flutters but why
Was it a happy memory or a cry
The heart flutters again
Is it a fever or is it stress
Has it skipped a beat
or was it running in joy
A silent moment
Lost to the world
No return and never the same again
Until we meet again
The seasons await the start of something new
Little heartbeats that make you smile
Alhamdullilah always for what you have
Flower’s bloom in hope and glory
Fever radio with Sofia and Shamas scenting the air waves with beats and tunes anew
The heart flutters but why
Was surely in happiness and joy
Faster and faster around the clock
Tick tock tick tock
The heart flutters but why…
By Shahnaz | Posted on: 14/10/2024
i email the poetry on shamas@radioasianfever.co.uk, please reply me with the same email that you recived my poetry
By ranno manoo | Posted on: 14/10/2024
Our Home - Summer 2024
The streets are in chaos because “we want our country back.”
While I tell you a story about how our ancestors helped carry the country on its back.
2.5 million helping in a war side by side with the place their future generations would call home.
I can’t imagine the people turning their backs on those helping their own.
33,000 providing care in the NHS,
But it was decided we would leave these people's homes a mess.
The opportunities we have been given,
We will always say thank you,
But please don’t believe we are the issue.
We are strong in our spirit to know that you will one day understand. Our religion is full of peace and harmony, and together we can.
This country has allowed us to fulfill our dreams.
Please don’t believe we are here to take yours.
Forever grateful and living our destiny.
Together we will thrive in unity.
By AH | Posted on: 14/10/2024
The olive tree tell me a tale as old as time,
As old as the earth,
as old as a nation known as it’s beloved Palestine.
This tale tells me a story,
of harmony and peace,
Of the gentle love between friends,
Of the reassuring first cry of a newborn baby that never seems to cease.
The olive tree gets older,
as the years go by,
It‘s tale turns into hardship and loss,
which again, is a story as old as time,
And it tells me instead of the last time a mother hears her baby cry,
A world full of war, horror
a world full of lies.
I ask what happens to the friends,
The olive tree tells me of their tearful discussions,
Of how gleefully chasing their friends in their youth,
Has become chasing their funeral processions.
The olive tree finishes it’s story and weeps,
As it thinks the world is asleep,
And when it’s leaves become fragile and it’s trunk becomes heavy,
with the weight of it’s history,
It chooses to remember it’s beloved Palestine,
And all the nations who think it’s tears are a mystery.
By Simrah | Posted on: 14/10/2024
It was back in July, I emailed Jabbar and said Hi
I’m an aspiring DJ, I love music, don’t say bye
A week later, Roundhay Road, intro to Woody Khan
Ustad Jee, took me under his wing, showed me the Chaar cart
Easy peasy, red button for the mic, blue for YouTube
I said I am ready, send me in please, live on air dude
Woody said come Thursday, system down, major letdown
Come on Monday, if not, I would have had a showdown
Monday came, DJ Alena by my side, I’m nervous as hell
I plough through, 90s classics, I'd like to think I did pretty well
Met my uncle at a wedding, he said well-done Jenab
But talk slower and try to be like RJ Shahab
Salaam to Sumera Jee, Namaste to Pallavi Jee, Sat Sri Akal to Surinder Ji
Yet to meet so many presenters, Mo, Ash, Jaff, Indy, my favorite is DJ Banaris Jee
Came on a Sunday, met Raja Mazhar, very calm, never gets testy
Turns out his sister, Aunty Shaheen from Shipley, is my mum's bestie
60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, two thousands, twenty tens and twenty twenties
So many decades, so many songs, Bollywood, all different varieties
Everytime I come into the office, I see Sofia and Shamas from Clayton
Working at their PCs, another offer from Woody, cup of tea, done
During my show, many flashes, many calls, the usual suspects
How I miss them, when they don’t ring, flash or send their lovely texts
On the hour - news and commercials, another set of commercials on the half hour
They have given me carte blanche, I can play anything, my playlist is like a tower
Before I became a presenter, I listened to Fever, my favorite host was DJ Saiqa Jee
She came to Nawaab once, back in the day, ordered matka kulfi and stole my RAJA CD
I love Fever FM and the lovely little studio; I enjoy my two shifts every week
Please Jabbar Jee, hand to mouth, on the ropes, full time employment is what I truly seek
Thank God I went to the Curry Mela and met Sofia, asked for Jabbar's email address
It was sheer luck, I wanted just one chance, to show I have the skills to truly impress.
By Atif | Posted on: 14/10/2024
To think means to do it intentionally.
I have lost this skill,
For I think without control.
How does one think without control?
How does one not?
It is an ever-fluctuating fever;
It is simply waves crashing over the sand.
And as we stand, we stare;
And once we stare, we glare—
Glare at a world that is no longer there.
We are transported into a cave,
And once in the cave, we begin to fade.
As the dark grey of the walls shifts to deep black,
The colour of entrapment:
Closed,
Silent.
And once we fall into silence, we either paint the black in shades of blue and purple,
Or we lose our ability to see colour forever.
By Inayah | Posted on: 10/10/2024
The good old days don’t last forever, so you must enjoy them now or never.
The good old days go away as quick as a flash, so now make everyday a blast.
Keep on smiling and rhyming have hope even when your mind’s saying nope.
Make everyday give you a fun fever once you’ve followed these steps you will become a believer.
By Qaim Sami (Age 10) | Posted on: 10/10/2024
Love this idea, encourages us to be more creative and move away from all the technology around us nowadays.
A little poem I wrote about graduating during the pandemic.
Here I am six years in the making.
Through a pandemic and a worldwide outbreaking.
Endless late nights and last minute deadlines.
Got my degrees now, names written in headlines.
A jack of all trades is a master of none, how?
Oh well I guess he's a master of one now.
End of Chapter, reached the word count.
On to the future, I hope I surmount.
By Hassan | Posted on: 10/10/2024