Poetry

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My beloved Karachi,
Though your existence is etched in the bosom of cruelty,
Still you give rest to, your weary souls,


Though the fiery wiles engulf your street,
Where day and night there lingers the rasping sound of bustling feet,
Still you give rest to, your weary souls,


Though the haunting screams of many,
Stains your landscape,
You give rest to, your weary souls; still you are their escape,


My beloved Karachi,
Too many of your days have been consumed, in the bosom of cruelty,
Now its time for you to arise from under the bitter memories that taints your identity,


Though in you rage blazes high,
To escape from the belly of its parched existence,
Is your root's cry,


When you soon realize that your creator is your exalted defence,
Your withering flowers will he sprinkle with the waters of His sweet fragrance,
And the blossoms of Karachi, my beloved city,


Will never cease to be
Your joy will now flourish,
In the bosom of His blessed eternity.

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