Mist - Poem by Aftab Alam
Am I a stupid flatterer or a poet?
Am I a courtier or a democrat?
As I breathe freely without help
So I write my own grief, without help
Many frustrated and cried, I know
For the name and fame and game
And those who acquired, I know
How steered the bout with helm
What language does have the pain?
I know who lays the egg, cock or hen
I haven’t seen the tears on the faces
I haven’t heard the cries of masses
I swam on their curious lovely puny eyes
Saw there in ocean, the motley of sighs’
When all the eyes had a hope of surprise
Then I myself became the eyes and raise
Though I know path is thorny
Yet I bleed from heart through my foot
It sounds unpleasant and irony
All think, from flower, me a shoot
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