Benazir Bhutto Assassinated

The world is sobbing
Oh! Such a disgrace
They end the life of a
Woman of grace
In exile she lived
For many years
She returned to give back
The freedom to her world
But blood thirsty, cruel
Senseless gents
Knew not how to handle her verse
They slit her throat
And now are cursed.
Will they be able to celebrate this awful bloodshed?
Or will they escape with another cover-up?

Is it right? Should we fight?
I feel miserable as I write.

I wish to be free

I would like to compress my dreams
To match my needs
My dreams are too large to fit
On my shelf of reality
Their enormous size overflows my budget
Larger than life, they fill the space,
Clutter my emotions in an unfulfilled stakes
Bury me under their heavy weight
Stamping me down
With wild expectations
Leaving me shattered
With disappointments
I cannot cash
The desires of my dreams


I wish to be free
From expectations,
From disappointments,
From illusions
I wish to compress my dreams
to just to match my needs
I wish to be free.

Street Urchin

No!
My heart does not move
Not any more!

Not even when I see a street urchin,
His hands, soiled, outstretched
Beneath my neck,
His eyes meeting mine
Imploring for help for one more time

Will he hobble and cross the street to
buy a bread that are sold for a dime?
Or will he stagger across the road,
to his boss, who owns him now
Who had chopped off his feet
Clipped off his wings
and send him here to beg?.

No!
My heart does not move!
Not any more!

How can it move?
It is stoned and lifeless,
peeled off its feel.