My Own Lal Masjid

History, Kaee Chicharr, Lahore, Oldie but goldie, Poetry

I watch them ravage my cities
In the name of
Faith or Justice or Liberty,
Or Power, Or Money,
Or some new god.
If they’re honest enough
To admit that its all a lie,
It’d save us some energy
That we passionately expend
To protest our innocence;
It wasn’t me!
It was the one eyed man!
Or the man in the turban,
Or the man in a smock,
Or the man who looked at me
In a funny, funny way,
Or the guy whose skin was darker
Or lighter than mine.
Or was it the guy
Who spoke to me
In my bhangi dream,
& told me to cleanse the lands
of the slaughterers of the mother cow?
Or the ones who Believe?

I am the son
Of a Morbid race.
I’d rather worry about
Feeding my cats,
Credit card payments,
The next fix,
The new DVDs,
My ex-girlfriends & their complexes,
Et cetra.
Et cetra.
Et cetra!

I have my own Lal Masjid
Inside my head.
I have my own wars
To fight.



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