A missive from motherland
A missive from motherland
The deprived and oppressed folk, of my land,
Ever dealt with ruthlessly, with an iron hand,
Always thriving below, or on the poverty line,
Alack! Amid the fertile lands of rich sunshine.
The children live, in the damp and biting cold,
Half naked; ah on the wickers piteously rolled,
With wizened visage, their arms weak and lank,
Shelter less they loiter, in the dreary and dank!
Glitter less eyes of stony stare, lackluster smiles
The dying flicker slaughtered, on altar of guiles,
Blinds drawn across, if there were a ray of hope,
Abandoned to the abyss, hapless they’d grope!
And dexterous hands, swapped with the bowls,
Begging for alms, the humanity sinks and fouls,
From pillar to post, abjectly they are made run,
Their hands reach out, be it cold or blazing sun!
A land where widows bewail, and usurper feasts,
Chasing their cherished game, those wild beasts!
The opulent whose lusty eyes, would aptly gloat,
Yet on the famished folk; for an ever longed vote.
The poor souls! They must grieve and lament,
Because there’s always a rub, only discontent,
Nothing in a weary world; the meat and drink,
Miserable in drudgery, ’neath a load they sink.
Their thoughts dwindle, ruined to fateful play,
The poor gullible victims, to the beasts of prey,
My folks scarcely clothed, often in tatters bare,
My soul weeps, buried deep but preaching fair.
Let there be rising, a turmoil and an upheaval,
Drive home my point, aye ’tis worth a retrieval,
Hear me, dear friends, the tale runs deplorable,
Rise from stupor, ‘cause the losses are palpable.
Their hearts are burnt, and hot they must blow,
Scorch usurpers’ ugly faces, O watch them bow,
’Fore the will of the commoner, in servility deep,
Humbled as accursed, in mud and slime to creep.
Seep with tears or blood, never shamed to dust,
Their power alone will endure, my love, my trust!
And play well in that pitched battle, sans a frown,
They must crush, every head that wears a crown!
By Dr. Riaz Ahmad June 25, 2026
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