Pages / Poem by Fahad Uchchwas

Poem by Fahad Uchchwas



They are not mere papers,
But my polished degrees,
Bride of my failures,
Like a pampered child
Always shaming it’s father
Leaving mother’s womb earlier.

They are not silly pages,
But deeds of authority,
Decorated on civilian’s blood,
Like the cross of Jesus,
An epitome of sealed holiness,
But born out of devilish flood.

They are not coloured sheets,
But the confessions of my love,
Copulated with tears and joy,
Like the pleas of a beggar
Asking for mercy with watery eyes,
Maltreated and is ever coy.

They are not rough tatters,
But heaps of my poems,
Siblings of solitariness and wine,
Like artifices of creators
Deluding themselves in utopia
For which they perpetually pine.

They are not moth eaten copies,
But scriptures of all beliefs,
Ordained and enchained for humanity,
Like the God himself speaking
Tying us in celestial kinship
In his garden of blessed sanity.


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