Back to the autumn trees
that locked under the ambitious roof,
Lacked by the wooden breeze
that cooked by the religious proof.
Our forgotten stories left to be carved on the chinars
like the greens on a rainy well thrives the mold,
Molten memories weft too brave on the shikars
like the dreams in a fairy tale cries untold.
The wakes leaving behind the bloody shadows
freezing the water that preserves,
The awake grieving below the stray meadows
greeting the slaughter that observes.
Can you see the heart beating in a rapid flow
when the smoke thrives over the chaos,
You see the art heating on a matted floor
when the kohl flows to shower the tears.
Now the knife is slicing deep inside the wound
like the soul from our bones,
The life is sinking down beside the bond
like the sole from our homes.
I see your eyes with a paralyzed smile
under the reflection of a starry sky,
And kill your byes from a terrified mile
under the projection when a diary die.