When Eid* also becomes a sad day,
What to do?
It is as if,
I am not cut out for this world.
And the people living here,
They only love to hurt,
And make the heart bleed.
What's wrong with the soil of this place?
Blood is thicker than water -
- That is what I was told.
But blood relations are the worst,
That's what I found out,
While trying to believe in a lie.
Money is the god of almost all -
- Worshiped by base pleasure seekers.
Far better are my poet friends:
Emily Bronte and John Keats*,
Thomas Gray and Elliot*,
Meer Taqi Meer and Mirza Ghalib*,
Faiz, Sahir and Ibne Insha*...
They too were 'misfits' who,
Saw through the hearts and deeds,
of selfish women and vain men.
Ah! How I love to be,
With those who shunned this world.