By Dr Jawaz Jaffri
Your Lap has forgotten
To unfasten for me,
I have been starved for half a century.
I while lying amid your bosoms
Spilling with milk
Have been looking at Strange hands
Moving about the buttoned attire.
When your motherhood
Was shed down from the bough of your blood,
A latent prostitute awoke up from your bones.
Falling sand from hands,
And in your womb Sin breathes.
The words of your resolutions,
Have been washed from eyes of the children
Of South Asia.
Attention has bolted its doors
On the speech contests of your Debating Club.
You have always
Into the eyes looking at you with hopeful modes.
O! Fine-looking prostitute,
You have nothing in your fate but tears.