by Mahir-ul-Qadri
As an ornament do they adorn me,
Yet they keep me and sometimes kiss me.
In their celebtrations they recite me.
In disputes they swear by me.
On shelves do they securely keep me
Till another celebration or dispute, when they need me.
Yes, they read and memorized me,
Yet only an ornament am I.
My message lies neglected, my treasure untouched,
The field lies bare, where blossomed once true glory.
Wrong is the the treatment that I receive
So much to give have I, but none is there to perceive.
