Poem By Mir Monis Zafar
An unaimed pen locked in his fingers,
In search of some words,
The sound of rain drops,
Hitting the hard surface of rooftop,
Trying to calm down the tempest -
Fierce tempest of his mind.
The aimless pen, finding it hard,
To put on some words,
Trying its best to extract,
Some words from his fogged mind.
Those tired eyes, in rejoice at the moment,
After all seeing some unaligned lines
of their owner...