A mirror suddenly dropped out of my hand
Shattered into pieces like a wind-blown sand
A terrible noise haunts in my room
That vociferous voice ends a way of groom
That mirror, a memory of my sweet lady
Now makes my life sad and no more shady
Those pieces of mirrors lying next to me
‘Causing great trouble and bring tears to me
Fragile mirror's sound creates massive mess
‘Cause it’s not akin to my heart that is noiseless
Published in weekly Disney discoverer of The News, 08 Feb 2003
Muhammad Mahtab Bashir
ISLAMABAD.
mahtabbashir@gmail.com
Pity de nation dat is full of beliefs and empty of religion. Pity de nation dat wears a cloth it does not weave, eats a bread it does not harvest, and drinks a wine dat flows not from its own wine-press. Pity de nation whose statesman is a fox, whose philosopher is a juggler, and whose art is the art of patching and mimicking. Pity de nation whose sages r dumb wid years and whose strong men r yet in the cradle. Pity de nation divided into fragments, each fragment deeming itself a nation.-KG
Friday, March 14, 2008
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