Let’s look into the pockets!!!
Under the pile of discarded papers
We might find a crumpled letter, full of love
Soaked in tears, a withered rose
Drenched in blood, an affidavit.
This is not a pocket.
It is a lottery box teeming with the bits of life and death
Of love, resistance or literature
Stamped with treason, betrayal or obscenity.
It is an invitation to death
From the rummage of darkness.
Make it known to the breathing dead!
If they wish to stay in the death well
Only a picture of wrinkled blood on NADRA identity card
With bowed eyes and silenced touch
should be found on them
with their permanent address.

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