In Gulmit, Remains My Soul

As they remain hostage
to their twisted fates,
the old clamour
in the gardens of its fragrance
Who I am, who am I?
The old echoes
follow me to the mountains,
buried there
in its rivers and skies
alive the moments
of travel and its sojourn
in Gulmit remains, my soul,
the old haunting voices
” you never came back”
and the world beyond
in its mayhem and greed
as I cough my head out
the remedy far away
in its air and in its presence,
Clipped wings and tainted
the old composition
only the desert and its oasis
the only companions
as I travel back to the rivers
with moon and its gaze
the caravans and its music
back to Gulmit, back to its echoes…

KASHKIN

Cleanliness…….

 

Islam, the universal religion has placed such an importance on the concept of cleanliness and its impact within the composition of the society that we must adhere to its message and implement. Islamic civilisation of the past believed and practised this. The civilisation grew unbounded in all four corners of the earth. So it is important that we understand as a nation the importance of this message and introduce in our policies in urban planning and development, keep our homes and roads clean, public buildings should not layered with posters. . In all matters of our belief, and in our day to day living this concept of cleanliness should be of paramount importance.

 

 

 

 

Zardari

The curse that follows,

From one portion to another,

They say “he is a politician”

As the light and soul removes itself

From the burden of pain and despair

 

As land becomes rotten dry,

Through plunder and corruption

The symbols of reconciliation

The fabricated will and nepotism

Walks in the corridors of power,

The frankensteins of democracy

 

As the nation goes to the gallows

The price we paid, the hands of devil

Inaudible screams and muffled rage,

Plays he from the distance, the old tunes

Of martyrdom and democracy

 

As the time folds itself,

In shame

Upon its knees,

The nation and its resource

Like the African famine this curse flows

The followers plenty, as slavery is in vogue

The Pharaoh’s hostages upon their knees

 

As the Nero plays his harp,

The chosen few,

To bring to keep the king

As the old goat and its image

Remain in view

The worships begins

Of the Kings and Queens

The monsters upon our land,

As they roam free

From justice and responsibility

 

The politics of conflict and interest

In play,

The masters of deceit and murder

The wheels will stop,

The soul will halt

No longer the slogans

“Long live the monster”

The fleeting moment,

But not eternity

As the curse finally finds its cage

The earth will not accept,

Heavens will not forgive

As the moment arrives of truth and Justice

As the ink flows

Through the hands of history

Remove those names

From our conscience and land

 

The traitors have no place,

As the time flies in its heat

Only the distant dust of their crimes

The witness to their existence and reminder

As the extinction begins,

The morning blooms

The colour of spring upon nation’s soul

The Real Revolution

        ASIM KHAN

I am Hazara

 

I am Hazara 

Am I killed?
The question
that remains
with me
For years
is it?
of my colour
race or religion
My blood carries
the same composition
Like you,
My murderers

I want to live
With my hopes
And aspirations
Want to live
With my dreams
Then Why
I to die
I am Hazara

Carried I have
this burden
From moments of my birth
Of this persecution
Still here,
ignored and neglected
beaten blue and death
Carried I have the dead
I am Hazara.

in the corridors
of these hospitals
Blood dripping
From her clothes
The smile,
Most beautiful
And her eyes
With questions
Why I to die
I am Hazara

In between
Thousands years
of travel
And our conversations
Of peace
I am Hazara
I am Pakistan

Do not
Just ponder
Or walk away
In slumber
Support me
My brother
My existence
Not an image
Or shrapnel
Thousands years
I am Hazara

I am Hazara
not a coffin
or graveyard
Support me,
I the am the distance
Of the old civilisations
And new
Reach out
Am your brother
I am Hazara
I am you
I am Pakistan

 ASIM KHAN

The Colour Explodes in its Whispers

 

The colour explodes
in its whispers
in its harmony,
the nature descends,
as the light catches,
the morning dew
with the man,
from different land,

in its alignment,
the mosaic
of beautiful summers
echoes of the past
in its view,
the rainbow drops
from the old corridors,
where once they travelled
from the old desert
to the mountains
the air
that whistled through the verses,
the place,
wher our heart remains
across the land,
once ours, now gone
the dreamers paradise…

the last remnants still with us
the monuments of wisdom
the tools of expression
there he roams in its valley
cornered and in its shapes,
reflections, and its wonder
of expression and humanity

The colour explodes
in its whispers
in its harmony,
the nature descends,
as the light catches,
the morning dew
with the man,
from different land….

ASIM KHAN

Michigan Lake

 

The blue horizon
now stands
frozen
as lonileness walks
stuck together
the old dreams
upon the white canvas

KASHKIN

The Platform

 

stand they
upon these shores of arrival,
in anticipation,
the distant sound and its trail,
as their travel ends,
but one, as somewhere
in an another train,
lost in this desert
of time, as seconds grow
into centuries..

KASHKIN