Don’t Dwell

Don’t dwell on the past, there is nothing there,

Only lies once laid bare.

Don’t wish for the past, there is nothing to stare,

People are too shallow to care.

Don’t think of the past, don’t you dare,

It’s the present which is rare.


If I fall…

And so I hang here today,

Of hope and safety I do pray.

The faces of my parents in front of my eyes,

All the smiles and all the goodbyes.

They had been so full of hope,

Now at this bar; here, I grope.

Smoky corridors clouded my way,

I wonder what my friends will say.

So I hang by this rod,

Pray for safety; from God.

The interview I had passed,

And appreciation amassed.

My hands burn; it hurts so much,

This hot rod is painful to touch.

I wonder what Ma is doing now,

Going to greet me with a smile, how?

My parents are going to be so proud,

Down there is media and a crowd.

They will save me, I hope they do,

There is a cameraman with his crew.

I hope they don’t air this live,

At least wait for me to arrive.

Aah! My hands are burning up,

Of water I need a cup.

The fire engines aren’t here yet,

I wonder when up they’ll get.

My job is final, that I know,

The appointment letter, to my parents show.

My brothers and sisters happy will be,

Shout and laugh with glee.

Its getting hard to hold on now,

Is it time to take a bow?

If I fall, will I survive?

Will I ever, really revive?

I look to the camera, pass a smile,

Maybe I can still hold on a while.

My hands are burning, hurting, still,

I hope I still have the will.

I’m slipping now, I hope they catch me,

How much will be the doctor’s fee?

And to my death, now I fall?

The firemen, did they even call?

My parents’,my brother’s and sisters’ smiles,

Come again, in front of my eyes.

If I die, Allah forgive me!

Grant them peace and serenity!

Let my family, have their choice of life,

Save them from all kinds of strife.

I seem to be nearing the ground,

I still hope I survive, safe and sound.

A tribute to Owais Baig.

(Background:  )

Not That It Matters

Not that it matters; not that I care,

But this is a memory we shall share.

Not that it matters; not that I care,

One day the facts shall lay bare.

Not that it matters; not that I care,

You would never ever dare.

Not that it matters; not that I care,

But everyone shall know about that snare.

Not that it matters; not that I care,

They shall know you illegally poached a bear.

Hazara Killings

It was a day like any other,

With my father, brother and mother.

After having so much fun,

All the enjoyment we had done.

To our home, coming back,

Of time we lost track.

As the bus came to a stop,

I felt my heart drop.

At a desolate and lonely place we stood,

Only hope for the best we could.

Our bus was mounted by a group of men,

All in all, they were ten.

Faces covered by scarves,

None of them were dwarves.

With frightening guns in their hands,

And no fear of the lands.

They took my father and brother away,

Even though I begged to let them stay.

All the children began to cry,

And their tears no one could dry.

I wish I hadn’t looked out the window,

From my memory it won’t ever go.

They stood all the men in a line,

Tried to look for a sign.

Then gunshots were heard, ever loud,

My sight; tears began to shroud.

I saw my father fall to the ground,

I heard my brother let out a sound.

With laughter and gleam in their eyes,

They left us with grief and sighs.

We finally got home; badly shaken,

Feeling distressed and forsaken.

This memory haunts my waking hours,

Whether under the sun or stars.

I wait by the window, most of the time,

A visible victim of a crime.

I hope it was a nightmare; all that I saw,

I hope “they” get caught by the law.

We visit their graves everyday,

Of peace and happiness we do pray.

All the time; my father I miss,

His laugh; his smile; his goodnight kiss.

My brother deserved a longer life,

Free from worry and every strife.

Lost in the past we seem to be,

No hope for the future do we see.

In this world of hate, we are all alone,

People have hearts of stone.

Its not our fault; we are who we are,

Whether you look from near or far.

The Hazara community wants peace too,

How to find it, we have no clue.



 Memories never fade,

Even after goodbyes are bade.

They brighten up our lives,

And thus a person strives.

In the most difficult times,

They serve as dimes.

Our life may be tough,

And sometimes a little rough.

But memories keep us going,

They are seeds of trees sowing.

Which give us life and hope,

Helping us to cope.

I wrote this a very very long time ago.

A Brave Heart

We guard the borders,

Waiting for orders.

Our life is for you,

The oath we took is true.

The truth holds out,

We won’t scream or shout.

Our time is here,

Proof that we dare.

Remember us, don’t forget,

We tried to stop and set.

Martyrs we are,

Never too far.

We hand this country over to you,

Our memories are not few.

Pray for us and our soul,

Thank you God! We played our role.

As we lay in our icy graves,

Hoping to be remembered as braves.

We remember and think,

Our life is on the brink.

Our families, for us, God will keep,

We have sown, now you shall reap.

Don’t let our sacrifice go waste,

Brutality, we don’t want you to taste.

It is our job you might say,

But trust us, we won’t have it any other way.

Destiny has played its part,

For some, its a new start.

Pray for us, remember us,

Don’t create such a fuss.

Just remember and pray,

Sweet memories never fray.

(A poem about the martyrs of Siachin)