Poor Unfortunate Souls Poem by Osama Waqar

How poor unfortunate souls they are;
Who neither know nor care to know,
What causes purity in the snow,
What causes sunshine in the hay.

That do not know the realities,
What pains and sorrows are given by hate,
What lifeless things so captivate,
What peace and charm thrives in the seas.

What yearns the trees and bees to grow,
What makes it special -our human lives;
What things in you that success drives,
What takes the ego, of things to throw.

Needless they be, yet are deceitful
These colourless souls, these powerless minds,
Of morality, of types and kinds,
Of what it takes to be the fruitful.

And thence we have this rising breed,
Those who seek no dreams, no colorful thoughts-
Of midday illusions, of nightly draughts,
Yet only the demised peoples' greed.

So, this is it that we must do,
To end this streak, once and for all.
Have faith in heart, you will stand tall;
Against these pigmies of all worlds too.