‘I Had to kill my self
To be yours
To absorb the pain
Of your closeness'
Chaos of Being
Not seen a parent, the father's shadow
Looms large. But not it seen, the one who
Live by it, and don't escape, are in mental slavery.
Be it a Pasha with Ottomans,
The Wahhabi cult; isolates, indoctrinates
Tells ‘holier than thou', schismatic
The purifier, a hired assassin.
His face reads the gloom of a destroyed citadel,
An apparent grave, underneath lies the corpse.
His woman no one shall see, is a monologous
Ghost, thrives on chants. The white of her eyes
Are like rough rounded stones, - droughty.
He shall lead hundreds of men to paradise
On the Day of Judgment. So he wishes death.
Sadiqulah Khan
Islamabad
April 4,2014.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem