I Am a Bride-groom Of War Procession Poem by Dr.jawaz Jaffri

Youth
Is the natural right
Of my innocent children.

War
Claims a part of my age;
My back is destined not to become a bow,
Death has built a nest in my chest;

And dread
Travels though my bones,
These my young and warm hands,
Which had been kissed more than often,
By my beloved women
Now are marked by death.

I wish that before my death,
I could take my aged mother in my lap;
Ah! No one is there to shed tears
On the death of Happiness.

I am a Bride-groom of war procession,
Radiation will apply Surma to my eyes,
At the very moment,
Life on my cheeks will die down,

My shoes will sleep in mud prostrate,
And the rags of my shirt,
Will cover nudity of any half-burnt tree.