bismamanzoor
By Shah Bisma Manzoor
The Eid always reminds me of the loss…
The lament, silenced within me.
My deprivation speaks high of the lost me.
Shall I still rejoice and make merry?
That old woman, with quizzical looks
Waves me to sit beside her.
Surprisingly, a coin she holds out to me,
Go and buy a toy. My child is crying.
Shall I still rejoice and make merry?
The old father waits for the return
the son who deserted him lately.
There is no sevaiyan cooking in his pot.
Shall I still rejoice and make merry?
The girl is in wait, for a gift her father may buy her
Hardly she knows the master didn’t pay the wages.
She dances to the ecstasy of a new dress.
Shall i still rejoice and make merry?
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