Ambulance Poem by Prof Niamat Ali Murtazai

The world is a fast moving train
That often crosses borders of brain.

Here life is born but for death,
Must decay all forms of health.

Laughter must turn to sorrow;
Past will become tomorrow.

Each morn is to become even;
One one will be lost of eleven.

Loneliness will search you out;
All pleasure will be put to rout.

All wanton springs mourn at last,
When fierce Fate's flood flows too fast.

Motionless dead bodies rest in graves,
Moving dead bodies live in built caves.

All walks lead to a single goal
Of hanging in the vast world's gaol.

World, in fact, is an ambulance
That does not approve resistance.

It carries bodies to Death's house
As if dark Death were bright Life's spouse.

Without Death, Life is incomplete,
His speck from her face we cannot delete.

While sitting in this ambulance
We must have some jerks of repentance.