Roots Poem by Usman Anwar

From hour to hour, we met and met,
From heart to mind, we feel and deject.

The hostile is the fate and fame,
The poor gradually becomes the lame.

We hug to show, from blame to row,
We lit the fire, what we feel is dire.

Hatred is common and love rare,
Love is concealed and hatred is bare.

The virtue is forgotten and the evil is practiced,
The friendship is cursed, the enmity is mesmerized.

These are the dress, these are the boots,
These are our base, these are our roots.