Syed Jesarat
The postman hasn’t
Left the post office since
Two decades,
My Dream’ letters –
to the Broken mirror
of Himalayas
Will never reach you
But the scattered carcasses.
The pocket letters of
Our times’ are
hollow shadows of
memories snatched away
And kept in a dungeon
With dead corpses.
I write to you every
Summer and –
two summers have passed
With repetition of funeral
And less number of smiles,
Jhelum is the witness.
This burden is heavy
and Smoke has filled the hearts
Of raw fleshy thighs –
And we are sinking slowly
Into the web of spiders –
In the graveyard of empires.
Syed Jesarat is currently pursuing a Masters in Philosophy.