Sunday, January 18, 2015

The Wailing Wind from Peshawar



Sitting in the bus jolting in fog 
Thinking about the sweet departed souls,
About the sojourn of unblossomed buds perfected
Ravished
By those with veins carrying pus infected,
On the day that already carried
From 70 ies some deep bruises varied.


About the doom that hastened
And the gloom that fashioned,
About the books that cried, 
And the ink that died,
I can still hear them ;
Listen, listen to the lilies that moan; 
Feel the clank of trigger in the hands 
Of one with heart of stone,
The thud of bullet piercing
The green and white uniform.

About the veins, touched only by the lips of mothers,
Collapsing and unfurling,
In blood storm and smothered, opened
Like the fist of sleeping child,
With wrenching pain for a while;
Did they have their pens as arms of slaughter?
Or Ma'am Tahira a goblin's daughter?
For what fault their blood was splattered?
Could evil be more announced?
Could trauma be more pronounced?

About the wretched, the murderers wretched
May hell be their abode
Atrocious misery their mode,
And please make it perpetual my Lord;
May fetid be their smell,
Even to hell offensive their shell,
May to the acts of such depravity
Match thy miseries and woes' gravity;
And each suffering unspeakable
Fill thy every filthy cavity.

About the patrons and bros of dead Pharaohs,
And their roguish stinking shadows,
I hope their cheeks yearn for smile,
For now united are all ranks and files,
None will get any space,
Nor their bloody steps any place,
Run you will from hill to hill,
Won't now you hide your filthy face,
Remain you will under-siege,
No matter you are black, white or beige;
Clad in war, not peace we come,
Make your choice you all or some,
Shave your face or change your name,
Plant yourself or make a hasty run,
Invoke your klepy or orcs or trolls,
For God we pray to is not your one,
You sure will pay for each flower you uproot,
No friend, no fiend shall bear u a fruit.

About the day of pain which can't be unlived,
Though by sculpting courage collective,
And refusing to wed with fear destructive,
Lets infuse the dreams of fallen angels,
Into our hearts, brains and muscles
Into our skin, nail, hair and even hair tangles,
Lets adorn a future free from a sigh,
A future lifting even the heart of God High.

1 comment:

  1. That's wonderful. Whoever you are, you have represented the feelings of thousands in these beautiful lines. Keep on writing.

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