Under the kaaminis scattering slowly

Trumpeting and moving ahead,Into a herd,Crossing the forestWith the mates,The wild elephantWith the tusk,The trunk and the tail,The eyes big-big,The legs pillar-likeAnd the body mammothJust like a rock, a stone block.

From every side,If his good and badAre not considered.One cannot be goodFrom every perspective,One cannot be free fromIt all, be sure of,Someone is short of something.

Of your sweet face,I cannot,Cannot keep myselfWithout,Without having an eye-viewOf yours,Your sweet face,Your strange,Strange behaviour, manner and courtesy,Your,Your outlandish look and behaviour!

Traditional folk danceWith traditional folk music and playThey rehearsing,Rehearsing, dramatizing,Performing collectively,Dancing, feasting, rejoicing,Milking, cooking, huntingOr sitting at homeIt is a beauty to see temPlaying traditional instrumentsTaking to nomadic life and cultureOf the herders, indigenous peoplesOf the world.

Under the mist and the dews?Who is, who is the maidenWith the star as flowerPlucked and put into the handsGoing in the dark?Under the moonlit nights, who the maiden going,Talking with the starsAnd the fair, fine and icy fresh rajanigandha sticksFull of whitely blooms,Dreamy and strangely scented,Smiling and talking?O, love’s talks!I just marking her from…

The theme of guiltAnd overcoming of grief.

Who is missing since longAnd my profile there just to trace her, trace her,To find out the whereabouts of the missing girl,I open the Facebook just to see her.

A peace-broker,An apologist forCrimes committedIn the name of.Was he a politician,A spectator?A history of troubled times,Yugoslavia after the fall,Crumbling to debris.

Am I here,HereWaiting,Waiting for you.A blonde,Belle,Beauty,MaidYou passing,Passing byIn the burqaAnd I,I marking you,YouWith love.

You have the right to writeAnd post on social networking sites.

You wipe them down,My daughter,Syrian daughter.

Who a Mian, who a Hindu, who a Christian?Has Pakistan as a minority countryGone beyond it?