My Lord: My Hope Poem by Shahzada Imtiaz Ali

Agonies; come on and kill the last hope
Fetch the joys and demise them the last crop.

But you devil, not even think about my mother
She is a mystic saint’s, and a holy virtue’s mother.

O, agonies of her you just shut up and forever flee,
Come to me, even doubled or more but let the mother free.

My Lord! The Master of Heaven, the creator of the universe,
Your blessings the great and enormous, fill my mother’s purse,

My Lord! Who grow plants, and rained from the sky
Be close and put your blissful hands on her slight cry.

My Lord! Sovereign over the sun and moon,
Look not so fierce and purged her soon.

My Lord! Who give hope, breath, health, bread, joys and many more,
Depict all for my mother’s wish and do some more.

Let the agonies, agonies of the world, fall over me and do it fast,
Purge her! Purge her! And purged without any contrast.