The city
Where I lived the pinnacle of my life
Wandered through the notorious streets
Inhaled smoke of petrol and hashish
Wrote my poems on its walls and gates
Loved the western charm of eastern beauties
Saw misery dancing on weak faces day and night
Witnessed pious bodies at sale on roads each midnight
Laughed at my helplessness when called overqualified
Cried with saints and poets every Thursday night

The city
Where a man committed suicide
Because he couldn’t feed his child
I lived here and survived
The bomb blasts, wars and disasters
But I died the moment
When one of my city fellows said
“You are not one of us as you were migrated here”

by Dr Kamran Haider Bukhari

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