1. A Fraudulent Quest For Peace
During a troll
In the valley of
Gory fire.
I stumbled over
A stone stuck
In a chasm.
No! No! No!
That wasn't
A quarry.
Instead
A decomposing
Burnt leg
With nylon socks
In sneakers, still.
I think it was in
'They' sphere.
Perhaps in Syria or Palestine
Maybe in Kashmir,
Anyhow.
Warlords contend:
"It's for peace".
The pacifists were
Also there.
The award-winners too
With their enacted
Rapports,
But no peace.
There was
An implacability
A fiendish fuss.
Humanity raped.
Innocence lashed.
Chastity throttled.
Melioration commoved.
A mere fallacious pursuance
For world's serenity!
Dedicated to Murshid G
______________________02-05-2019________________
2. Mangta (The Beggar)
I'm the beggar! Mangta is my name
Smuts are my honour, curse is my fame
Folks feed me with the filthy jokes
Stones, slaps, kicks, chokes
_______________________03-05-2019________________
3. Outcasts
We are nothing, we are none,
A shameless cry, a useless fun.
Should we repent, or blazon out,
Why all of us are thrown out?
Who we are? Nobody tells!
Everybody laughs and then yells,
Go away you bloody crumbs,
You infectious, filthy goosebumps.
Wait, wait you gregarious mind,
Let me tell you our humanely kind.
Neither we mixer, nor we socialists,
We're entertainers, we are artists.
Who know the art of losing faith whole,
The art of whipping the bare soul,
Art of slapping the prudent ego,
The art of moving to and fro.
Listen, Listen, we are the outcasts,
With dark futures and aweful pasts.
For us, the names people predict.
Beggar, Whore, Gay and Addict.
A hope of change that never lasts,
Because we're the futile outcasts.
Dedicated to : Sir G Shakir Shehzad
_____________________07-05-2019_________________
4. My Muse
An arid foliage, I was
Tramped down under the feet
Rolling around, street to street.
A derelict being, indeed.
Then you ascended on my heart
To instigate in me
The passions, abeyant.
And embossed my soul
With your stamp.
Bestowed me with your name.
With the voice to my aphasic tongue.
You're the vision in pur blindness
Like a beacon fire in hobo camp.
I blurred, effaced, smudged
And became you and you forever.
Dedicated to My Muse
_______________________20-05-2019_______________
5. It Hurts
It Hurts
When darkness swallows the flashing rays,
When destinies quell the destined ways,
When trees slay their own shadows,
When mothers commence to be pawned,
When throne charged a cadaveric snip,
When gravitas is at stake,
When debts are without brake,
When belief is just for sale,
When guardians become looters in disguise,
When Adam iteratively eats the forbidden fruits,
When beasts leap out on redolent petals,
When dripping mouths surveil shredded suits,
When broke up the sectile battles.
When a bereft mother in agony weeps,
Over pearls found in garbage heaps,
With looted, sliced, pillaged figures.
No action, just reactions,
For such brutish, mordacious factions.
Listen O man of ruling-slot,
It hurts, and hurts a lot!
Dedicated to Farishta, Zainab and other crushed Flowers in rapes and killings.
(Originated from a song, "O Mastanay" by Syed Asrar Shah)
Copyright @ M.K Aassi
