The Pakistani Spectator

Wrapped up in million stars this old sky,
As they stare from little windows of existence
From the wooden bridge, in the mountains
As the mist rises in its colors of remembrance,
There lies the valley, where beauty is suicidal
There lies home, where protection is nature
All in there, fleeting glance or permanence
The old days of reflection, spent in between
As they whisper, ode to change and for help

In there, lies the answer to our quest for brutality
As the smoke arises from snows of purity
The blood that flows in human rivers
Amidst beautiful snow, amidst gravity
As the new born find its feet and face
There melts, the human misery now
As seeds of this disease, reaches them
No longer forbidden and remote,
In all these years of its formation

Flows there our blood in this valley
Of you and me, as we kill all in our names
The great sacrifice to our voices of conscience
Wrapped up in million stars, this sky
As they stare from little windows of existence
At you, at me, this unbearable pain
As the new born find its feet and face!

ASIM