3 poems by SHAUKAT ALI DAB

On the eve of new year

Pakistani society has,

Become a family of burglars,

Who fuck their victim,

Having no human collectives.

The hands of each Pakistani,

Are soaked in blood,

Of his fellow being,

And they are not even ashamed of.

A year, red in tooth and claws,

Has run leaving us in disarray,

So many humans,

Have watered the sacred land with  their blood.

Don’t worry about your life,

Feel proud to be Pakistani,

For the English is responsible,

Is the message for all.

……..

 

Fear

In the state of fear,

A day passed, echoing,

Clear, clear, clear,

Split and tear,

The mentor did no care,

Toughness parted,

Broke into tears, softened stone,

Trepidation bullied so hard,

The thought of misgiving,

Torn apart the rock.

……

Ventilate

How much can I

Ventilate.

Everything ? It’s but impossible.

Battalions of blues and I’m only one—

One with many axes to grind,

Many irons in the fire.

It’s getting too stuffy inside.

Can I drain all this out

And vent it away

Do ventilate dear!

How can I

They are many, in fact:

Whence will I start?

My friends are fast

And kins are smart.

 

But go on nonstop,

Ventilate my dear!

Share your sorrows

To shave them off.

Spare yourself some space.

Living in the blues doesn’t do,

And there’s no braving it if you share.

Don’t miss it out on your Lord—

His gracing you with reward

Wear smiles n’ thank your God

Only then can you be your soul’s guard.

 

SHAUKAT ALI DAB