That wretchedness, Sir is not my feat
Snow topped peaks, melting glaciers
Of streams down the ravenous thighs
Of valleys, gushing waves from womb-
Ous rivers. Neither tell me sad stories
Of cretins, living over there, nor trouble.
O Prince, bring mulberries and plums,
With sweet Hunza wine, and milky bath.
Islamabad
October 2,2014
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