Decay Poem by Hanan Muzafar

Tell them your untold truth,
they'll show sympathy for a time being,
then they'll laugh at you,
to embrace absurdity;
But there're few virtuous killers,
left here, waiting and watching,
every move they make—
Feels like you've got a numbness,
like a dead walking,
through a graveyard.

They're liars, lying all the time,
promising of blue sky,
and selling you false hopes,
But they're not going to work here,
not anymore—
We see it dark and decaying here,
and every dog barking for a bone:
A thrill they seek,
to kill and get killed.

Dreamers, talking to everyone,
walking with everyone,
looking for hope in lost ones;
Drunkards drunk,
women yelling at them,
and demons feeding on their sorrow—
A crowd passing through corridors.

A recent arrival of workmen,
starving for bread,
scratching walls, digging tunnels,
hiding in cells—
Trying to escape,
for a bright place,
and some men belong nowhere.

Clans we make within an enclave,
to dissolve in them,
like water in mud—
It's here,
heaven and also hell,
hiding behind each other:
There's nothing left in us.