Breaking Poem by Prof Niamat Ali Murtazai

Breaking is the lot of mirror, my friend!
The whole nature is filled with this sad trend.
Eyes also seem to be made of glass
In delicacy, none can them surpass.
The pitcher of heart and the pan of mind
Are, no doubt, of the fine clay's kind.
But soul, the magic in wisdom's vast world,
Works wonder: some of them heard, some unheard.
Eyes are the mirror of soul, my friend!
Where she can look at her face and can mend.
Such moments come as can break even soul;
Man forgets what, in life, is his role.
He finds himself gone beyond torture;
No interest is left in worldly matter.
Thoughts get broken into countless small parts;
No idea in this bleak wilderness darts.
Dark night, without stars, prevails all around
Lifeless stands each melodious sound.
This breaking is worse than the gloom of death
That proves that man is a statue of breath.