Poem: A hounded heaven

Representative Photo

Dawn to dusk,
They scram,
In the hounded heaven,
In effect, a hell incarnate.

One gone,
Another comes,
The number ticks…

Since long, very long—
When archenemy came as ally,
In that midair march.

The date of our distress?
Yes, we remember!
Memory is a moron.
And, you think it was thick!

Our young now groom, in doom.
Thus, comes,
The spiralling ante…

“They are on an emancipation trip,”
She quietened the wailing room,
Holding that dear son,
With the angelic smile,
Close to her heaving heart.

The mother has a void to fill.

Look around…
The departed romantic
And his cast off library—

And those notebooks,
Scribed with rising,
At his life’s spring.

A voice comes,
And firm:

“I dare you!”

I can hear,
The centuries old,
war cry.

Shouters, shouters, shouters

An incensed rant,
With a name,
For the righteous.

But where is my son?
He said,
He will return

At the twilight of our torment,
When our cities will light up,
And cease to be,
The ghost towns,
We dwell.


Yasir Zargar is a writer and web security analyst.


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