Lonely These Streets…

Paintings-of-the-Islamic-Civilization-232.jpg-The one to be used


Remember the times,
the human mind,
at its peak
when the labour produced,
words of wisdom and literature

and now,
only the conversations,
of those grand days
as they decipher
haphazardly, the outcomes

lonely these streets
in Cordoba, in Baghdad,
Empty these gardens,
in Tashkent and in Lahore
the forgotten landscape
the tragic scorn of distant past

engulfed in these echoes
the old image of butterfly
stuck across the tainted glass
no names, only the words,
laughter caged in its echo
only the drizzle
of depondency and disbelief
as the nation begins to disown
the roar that became its oxygen

empty these hands
with all its lines
of destiny and fortune
Only the image upon tainted glass,
as they decipher
in streets of Coroba and Baghad
in lonley gardens
of Tashkent and Lahore,

As i carry my being,
drapped in my mortality,
across these grand bazaars
of humanity and its canvas
the relentless pursuit
of the time
with promise broken,
with hopes splintered,
as the landscape
seeks its revenge
as heavens above,
outpour its discontent

Remember the old times,
when we were not confined
with boundaries and tribes,
our playground the whole Universe….



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