by Muhammad Nadeem




A Little Cherubic Girl

With A Doll in Her Lap

And The Old Gary Granny

With Teary Blurry Eyes

Both Waiting

For their Loved Ones to Come

From The Ages

In The Dark

In The Sun…


Dear Father,

In This Fiery Burning Summer

You’re trembling

You’re cold

Who Scorched Your Blooming Bud?

Who Killed Your Only Hope?


How Can We Forget

Raining Bloods of Our Martyred Sons

Broken Limbs, Fractured Bones of Aged Ones

Raped Daughters and Abused Mothers

Brunt Villages and Blasted Homes



The New Eid Dress

Of That Alluring Child

With The Doll in Her Lap

Is In the Ashes of Her Sweet Home

Torn, Ragged, Shabby and Seedy!


We water the Divine Blood-

From The Snowy Paths

From The Yellow Chinar Leafs

From The Burning Streets and Vacuum Roads

But We Can’t and We Won’t

Kill The Hope From Our Souls…


To Breathe In The emancipated Vale!


We Moved the Mountains

And We Can Climb More

We Sacrifice, And

Yes, We Can Immolate More

Because The Fire of Our Soul

Its Fuel Is Resistance

Its Elixir Is Hope…


To Breathe In The emancipated Vale!


(Hailing from Batamaloo, Muhammad Nadeem has done his graduation in English and Psychology from Amar Singh College. He is currently pursuing MFA in Creative Writing)


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