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Array
(
[sid] => 146887
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Beneath The Ossa Of Dust
[time] => 2008-12-17 06:55:11
[hometext] => (On the event when five women buried alive in Bluchistan: Pakistan)
[bodytext] => What kind of hearts We contain in the chests! What kind of thoughts We bear in the minds! What kind of blood Flows through our veins! For the loins and the wolves, The rats and cats, the dogs and hogs: The ferocious animals That bear the brutal hearts, Daren’t bury their fellows alive. I weep, weep and weep! I wail, wail and wail! On the deed you did, On the crime you committed; And those who remained silent spectators, Are the accomplices too, The collaborators, In execution of the most heinous, And monstrous deed. The daughters of Eve and Adam, Who are akin to us As mothers, daughters, sisters And companions of life Have been maltreated, Buried alive by the so-called elites: Cream of the crop, Who are men in forms But wolves in spirits, The sky mightn’t have witnessed The spectacle more horrible, More hideous since centuries. They might have suffocated Feeling themselves beneath The Ossa of dust, Blocking the respiratory tracks, All helpless, unaided With palpitating, breathing hearts, And fearful minds Wrapped in the brutal murkiness, Yearning for a single Fresh breath or a gust of wind. Where are the laws? Where are the morals? Yes; they exist, But for the back-broken And not for the feudal lords: The snakes sitting coiled Upon the heaps of gold, They are privileged To do with liberty What their wanton hearts wish, No punishment: Terrestrial or celestial them scars. Ah! They buried Five women in the dust alive, Should we weep and wail, Or wail and weep, We still live in the Stone Age Or in an era much worse than that, We are no more in the modern age; Imaging a while Place yourself in the place of those women Buried alive with the beating hearts, Pulsating pulses What a horrible experience They might have undergone. The more I think The more my head begins to pound And my despised heart wishes to live, In the hovels beneath the ground, In the company of the beasts: Less brute and less appalling, They may tear me to pieces But won’t bury me alive, With beating heart and pulsating pulse Beneath the Ossa of dust, Blocking the respiratory tracks. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 197 [topic] => 56 [informant] => MuhammadShanazar [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => sarcasticpoetry )
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