Had veins dried up ever?
Still hoping for Spring bright
The act of being squealer,
Serpentous attitude never paved them delight

We brought our honesty, on that eve
Always humiliated, but never tried to flee
The desires, on its peak
Never thinking of others seek

The world with its real face
Selfless ones put into disgrace
As all this written on their fate
The fruit of generosity, hence came late

The world, summoned to crush them
Those who, fed up with world now
Knowing, nothing gonna defend them
Except pious deeds, that spread love

مجھے پھر سے تو بے وجود کر

Taking world as abode of trials
Everything here, as clutter of fails
Everywhere, the innocent names
Forcibly shown as evils

All over, the thorn of blames
The real abrasive, who prevails
To pull them on knee
Unless, all of them flee

But the ethical people, once got
That ferals, by sense
There’ll be calm and storm of blood clot
With situation, crucial and tense

Then that few numbers shall reign
The relief of heart, after great pain

Editor's Note

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