I wrote this poem to tribute to Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto, the former prime minister of Pakistan. He was hanged by a cruel military dictator, April 4, 1979. He died but never compromised on his love for the poor people.
My dreams scare you ----
your loathing anguish is my glory.
You put me in a gutter
of your gnarly mediocrity
I still enjoy the sky ---
And watch you shudder.
Why do you rush past me?
Let your sting be more lethal.
Enjoy my stumbling in the land of ignorance.
Allow flocks of vultures to circle over me.
let the world see you
dancing in the flames of my soul!
Wait for the crows to come
and peck my soul.
You watch my agony
while I gather my scattered dreams.
Don’t think me a blank canvas
and paint as you please.
with a brush dipped in your vat of dirty thoughts.
The horrors of your ugly mind don't touch
the ocean of love I hold.
The rhythm of my persona echoes
in distant meadows of lonely souls,
walking through a forgotten garden of broken hearts.
And you’re just holding tale of White Elephant,
that will piss on your face, when I’m gone.
You killed and threw me into your river of hatred,
and thought I was consumed.
You hung my head by your sting,
but my soul clawed for the surface, gasped for air,
sank and then rose breathing anew.
Now I’m everywhere in the hearts of people.
I’m a shadow hugging a tired tree,
a cool evening wind whispering to the thirsty leaves,
I’m the lullaby of prismatic rivers and sweeping hills
that runs to dying fields, and frozen lakes.
Nature sneers at you:
“Here comes my child, so untamed, wild, and free.”